James S Potter and the Heart of Hogwarts
by SGTwhiskeyjack
Summary: BOOK 1/7: A series following James Sirius Potter in the style of the original books. Rumours of violent desecration of sacred magical artefacts arise as James begins his first year. As safe as Hogwarts once was, nothing can protect him when the threats come from within the walls. Especially if they are after the mysterious and powerful Heart of Hogwarts
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hello Dear Reader, and welcome to the tale of the (mis)adventures of James Sirius Potter. Gather 'round and watch as he makes his precarious way through Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

 _Will he carve out his own niche in wizarding legend so that generations to come will remember his name? Will he become the master of pranks and deception such as his double namesakes? Or will he fall by the wayside, consumed and overshadowed by the achievements of his own father? Forge onwards and all will be revealed..._

 _A bit of admin before we begin; this will be a seven-part story, one for each year of school, similar to the original Harry Potter series. Like the original series it will be a Fantasy Action/Adventure style with splashes of Romance/Drama along the way. If you are searching for an angst-ridden, woe-is-me style sop-fest, I kindly suggest you look elsewhere._

 _We are lore-friendly/canon compliant at the start of Book 1 (insofar as my lackluster research efforts inform me)._

 _Standard disclaimer before we begin that the entirety of this world is owned by J.K. Rowling, and it is only by her unyielding benevolence that lowly peasants such as I may strive to reach such lofty heights using the very tools that she so lovingly crafted._

 _Updates will be weekly on Sat/Sun Australian time. A chapter or two per week. If you are enjoying the story, make sure to tell your friends about it so they can enjoy it too. If you hate it, make sure you tell your friends about it so they can form their own opinions. Either way, leave a review on the way out, and welcome, Dear Reader, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy._

With a _whoosh_ of air and the brief sensation of suddenly being outside on a very windy day, James Sirius Potter stepped calmly out of an otherwise-innocuous, solid brick wall onto Platform 9¾. The scarlet steam engine squatted low on the rails, lazily puffing out silver smoke as it stood firm against the sea of chaos raging on all sides. James' head threatened to swivel right off as he spun about, taking in the waves of noise, colour and pure electrical _excitement_ that was all around him.

His family appeared at the barrier shortly after he did, and he grabbed his father, Harry Potter, by the hand, navigating him through the press.

'Busier every year,' he heard his father mutter under his breath.

'Well you can't blame them,' his mum replied, her bright red hair swishing as she ducked in between extravagantly-dressed witches and wizards, holding tight to James' siblings, Lily and Albus' hands.

Harry muttered something that sounded to James like 'Baby Boomers.' He asked what that meant; it was a funny term.

'It means James, that after Voldemort was defeated, the Wizarding population rejoiced; we were finally free of a dark cloud that had been hanging over us for the past who-knows-how-many years. Whole generations had been brought up in fear of him, but now they were finally free.' His dad paused for a bit, unsure of how to carry on. 'So er, they got to _celebrating_ , and now that it truly was a safer world to bring up children in they started having more. Lots more. Now those kids are all Hogwarts-aged, like you guys, and it means that there are so many more of you now than there ever were of us. It's great, of course, great for wizarding Britain, but it has meant that things will have changed around school a little bit from my day in order to accommodate it all. They'll fill you in when you get there.'

James thought this over, something didn't quite make sense. 'But dad, how does _celebrating_ mean making lots more kids?'

His mother quickly cut in and wrapped him up in a _very_ tight hug. "All right then James,' she gave a little laugh, 'here we are, time for goodbyes.'

It seemed to James like she was making dad avoid answering his question, but he let it slide with a shrug.

After his mum had kissed him goodbye and gotten lipstick all over his forehead, he hugged Lily next, and gave her a big sloppy kiss on the cheek, which she hated. She was looking a little sad about not being able to go, but James promised her to send her something from Hogwarts, Fred had once suggested a toilet seat. That made her giggle, and her green eyes lit up for a short moment.

Albus was stoic, but James could tell he wanted to come along too; they had done everything together for ten years now. This would be the first time they were to be apart for more than a week. James was a little nervous himself, he was glad he had his cousin Freddy starting this year too. Albus held out his hand, like he'd seen the fathers do, but James pushed it aside and wrapped him up in a tight, brotherly hug. 'I'll miss you, bro.' He whispered. Al didn't say anything, but James felt him nod his head.

When they pulled apart Al somehow got something in his eye, and needed mum's help to get it out.

Last of all James turned to his father for a final hug before setting off.

'Now make sure you _behave yourself_ Jamesy, and study hard, like Aunt Hermione says. Don't be too upset if you don't make the quidditch squad in first year, and don't whatever you do listen to advice that Fred said he got from his dad, ok?'

'Ok Dad,' James mumbled into his father's coat. He must have got something in his own eyes too; they were starting to sting.

Finally James broke away from his father, who tussled his hair and handed over his trunk. With one last watery smile and a wave James Sirius Potter set out for the Hogwarts Express, and his next great adventure.

James found himself dragging his bulky trunk awkwardly behind him as he negotiated his way through the press on board. The train was _so busy._ All the carriages that he peered into were full, or had older kids sitting in them.

An angry whirring sound caught his attention and he looked up just in time to see a particularly vicious-looking fanged Frisbee flying straight for his head. In a moment of panic, James shoved open the nearest compartment door and dived in, hitting the unforgiving wooden floor with a dull thud.

Hogwarts is dangerous, he thought, as he dusted himself off, feeling the top of his head to make sure the Frisbee hadn't left him with a bald spot like his dad was getting. He didn't even notice the girl sitting in the seat across from him holding a book upside and giving him the _strangest_ look.

'Oh! I'm James Potter,' he said, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, as he held out his hand. She took it in a soft grip that made him feel like he should do a little bow and give it a kiss. Odd.

'Cassandra.' Was all that she said.

'Cool, like Cass, or Cassie?'

The girl, who had just picked up her book again, lowered it and gave him a _very_ stern look, like the one his mum would, when he had done something bad, like the time he had set the cat on fire.

'I do believe I introduced myself as Cassandra; etiquette would therefore dictate that you refer to me as such.'

James closed his mouth, which had slipped open while she spoke. 'You use a lot of big words.'

She stared at him, her eyebrow cocked, as if waiting for something.

'Well?' She said.

'Well what?'

'Well I was wondering if you were going to follow that most astute of observations up with an equally astounding inference of any kind, but it does appear that was all you had to offer.'

James liked this girl and her big words. 'We should be friends,' he offered.

That brought her up short. Her mouth worked wordlessly for a second before she gathered herself.

'I know who you are James Potter.'

Of course she did; he'd only just introduced himself. He said as much. He received an exasperated roll of the eyes in return.

'What I _mean_ is that you are Harry Potter's son; you are rich, famous, and bound to be a magnet for _all sorts_ of trouble, and trouble gets people like me killed, or expelled, or handed some other fate of equal detriment to my otherwise peaceful learning experience.'

All the big words was making this conversation hard, so James changed tack.

'What's that you're reading?' He asked earnestly.

This, too, took Cassie aback, and James saw her give a small shake of her head before she showed him.

'It's about dragons; a recent publication on origins and evolution of the species throughout Europe.'

James' eyes lit up, 'I love dragons! Did you know a Hungarian Horntail can breathe fire at over 2000 degrees? That's hot enough to melt _rocks!_ ' He plopped down on the seat next to her to get a close look at her book, grabbing her arm in the process. She opened her mouth, no doubt to tell him off, but her expression softened as James pored over the Swedish Short-Snout hatchlings she had been reading about; she had to hold the book upside down so they could climb up their mothers tail in the image in the book.

The two of them passed the time waiting for the train to leave by flicking through Cassandra's dragon book, before they were interrupted by the compartment door sliding open.

A short whip of a boy sidled in, and stowed his trunk underneath one of the seats. James thought that this was a good idea, as he didn't look big enough to lift it up to the overhead racks.

He flashed a grin at James and Cassandra, and offered his hand. 'I'm Clip.'

James thought that was a bit of an odd name, but shook the offered hand with a smile. Cassandra did that odd little limp-hand thing again and Clip looked mighty uncomfortable. She introduced them both.

'I'm Cassandra, and this is James Potter.'

'Just James is fine,' he added, he didn't need to be going around telling _everyone_ who he was exactly.

'Cool,' said Clip, and settled down opposite Cassandra on the bench seat. His eyes lit up when he saw Cassandra's book on dragons come out. 'Is that the new Scamander book on dragons? Awesome, I love that one, though I disagree on his theory about Horntail hatchlings though, he had anecdotal evidence _at best_ that they incubate them in active volcanoes, and don't even get me _started_ on that female-to-male transformation nonsense.

James saw Cassandra's eyes light up and he rolled his eyes, pressing his forehead against the cool glass. Great, now there were _two_ smart people in here using big words.

The whistle sounded and the train lurched into a rumbling crawl. James waved enthusiastically to his family as they slid by on the platform. Al still looked a little forlorn, there all by himself, his dad's hand resting on his shoulder. Excitement really started flooding through James now, Hogwarts was really happening, he was finally going to make it!

As the train forged on ever northwards Clip had tired of discussing dragon breeding habits with Cassie and curled up in the corner, snoring quietly. James was alternating between casting him strange looks, and trying to Catch Cassie's eye to talk to her again. All of a sudden James seemed to not be able to think of anything to say. He wanted to ask about which classes she was looking forward to, but she would probably just roll her eyes again, and go back to that book, like she did when he had asked to see her wand.

James began fidgeting, and was contemplating getting up to go find the other members of his family, when the compartment door slid open yet again and a _really tall_ girl walked in. She had long blonde hair down below her waist, and brilliant blue eyes, which fixed on James. She gave a nervous smile, and a little half-wave. 'Hi,' she said. 'My name's Kattala. Is it ok if I sit with you guys?'

'You're _tall_ ,' said James, and clapped his hand to mouth. Oops.

Cassandra _tsked_ , she was very good at that, and did the introductions again. She introduced him as James Potter yet again, much to his chagrin.

Trying to make a better first impression James offered the seat next to himself. 'So Kattala, is that right? Or can it just be Cat? Three friends already, Cat, Cassie and Clip. I like it.' He offered Cat a winning smile, which she returned in kind. Cassie _tsked_ again.

Cat looked thrilled. 'Friends already, mum will be so happy!' She practically squealed.

James was eyeing up her hair in sidelong glances, trying to figure out if it was longer that he was tall. He asked Cat to stand up so he could check, which she gladly did. He was taller than her hair by three hand widths, he counted. Cassie also said he was denser than her hair by a good margin too, but he wasn't really sure what that meant.

Cat seemed surprised that they all had their trunks with them; apparently she had left hers somewhere back up the train. This coaxed Cassie into talking again.

'You do realise that anybody could just go through all your things, and take what they want, right?' she said, not unkindly.

'Oh it's ok,' Cat replied, 'I put a lock on it, and wrote my name in magic marker so they won't. They will know it's mine.'

Cassie held out her wand. 'We _are_ witches you know, Kattala. I dare say a lock would hardly stop them.'

Cat got a sort of dreamy look on her face as she stared back up the train, the way she had come from. 'Oh. Right. Well, it _should_ be ok, Princess will take care of my things anyway. I asked her specially to look after my favourite socks.'

James got the feeling that asking who exactly Princess was might not be such a good idea.

'Who is your mum anyway?' He asked instead.

Cat flashed him a smile full of shining white teeth. 'Luna, my mum is Luna Lovegood.'

'Oh,' said James, as Cat pulled out her own book and flipped it upside down, earning an uncertain frown from Cassie. Well, that explained it.

James had heard his parents and Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron talk about Luna. Uncle Ron stilled called her 'Loony' sometimes. He knew that they had been friends at school, but Luna had left shortly after the war (James pulled a face at the thought of the war) and went searching for fantastical magic animals. His dad had said that she met someone called 'That Arsehole' in Sweden, and had Kattala. But when she returned That Arsehole never came back, and she married the guy who wrote their school books instead. Someone Scamander. James was good with remembering peoples' stories.

He and Cat passed the time trading tales; he told of all the places around the world his dad had travelled to on top secret Auror business, and she responded with adventures she had gone on with her mother and father and two half-brothers, Lorcan and Lysander, who were three years younger than her. James' eyes nearly popped out of his head when she told him about the time they went to track down an illegal Yeti-importing business in Scandinavia, and somehow ended up narrowly avoiding getting trampled by a reindeer stampede by escaping on a Norwegian Ridgeback that her mum called Norberta, of all things.

The sky outside turned from blue to steely grey as the day wore on, and just after the sweets trolley rumbled past (from which James liberated at least one of everything), his cousin Freddy, Fred Weasley II, poked his head in the door.

'Freddy!' James exclaimed, jumping out of his seat, scattering sweets all over the floor and startling a chocolate frog that was making a break for the open window. Cat, who had been slowly falling asleep on James' shoulder, jumped nearly a foot in the air and let out a noise that sort of went _squee!_

Cassie just raised an eyebrow and _tsked_ again.

After all the introductions were made Fred squished in between James and Cat, and leaned forward conspiratorially, inviting the other to join them.

'Guess what I heard,' he stage-whispered with a grin. 'Someone managed to smuggle a boggart onto the train, they let it out in a third-years carriage; it's wreaking havoc down there! I saw at least three girls _crying._ Victoire is down there with some other Gryffindor prefect trying to get rid of it, but they're having a hard time; it can't seem to keep a shape for more than a second. It's hilarious!'

James saw Cat shifting uncomfortably in her chair. For some reason she was looking _really nervous_ all of a sudden.

Clip let out a loud guffaw, which made them all jump. 'I like you Kattala,' he said. I think Hogwarts is going to be interesting with you guys this year.'

Even Cassie gave a nod of assent at that statement.

Cat seemed to suddenly decide that the buttons on her dress were very interesting, and left it at that.

A light drizzle was misting the windows of the Hogwarts Express as it pulled into Hogsmeade station that evening. James was sitting with his faced pressed up against the glass, trying to catch a glimpse of the castle. He was abuzz with excitement; he and Freddy, and sometimes Clip, had chatted about quidditch the whole rest of the way to school. James was especially excited about the new format, where every house played the others three times! That was nine games of quidditch for each team. His dad said that they only played three back when he was at school.

First-years still weren't allowed to play, which sucked, but they were allowed on the teams practice squads, and James already couldn't wait to try out for it. He'd been practicing on his broom all summer. He was going to be a chaser of course; they had all the action, and got to score the goals. His dad had been a seeker he knew, but that seemed a bit boring for him, just sitting on the broom looking for a tiny golden ball. James loved the wind in his hair, the thrill of being run down by an angry bludger, and most of all, the exhilaration of slotting a perfect throw through the hoops past Uncle Ron.

As the doors opened and the whistle blew, the five first-years piled out, careful to avoid a particular third-year carriage, in their travels. James got bustled about a bit in the press, and Cat grabbed his hand when they stepped off the train so they didn't separate. James made to reach out to Cassie, but she gave him that eyebrow-look again, and he thought better of it.

Hagrid's voice was thundering over the clamour of eager students, calling out for the first years, and James made a beeline towards its source.

'Firs' years! Firs' years over 'ere, come along now!'

'Hagrid!' cried James, and ran up to give him a hug, momentarily forgetting that he was dragging Cat long with him. Warm hands and a scratchy overcoat enveloped them both, and Cat staggered back with her hair sticking up from all the static electricity.

'Excellent,' she said.

Cassie has stopped a few paces back, and was staring at Hagrid. Her eyes were _huge._ James laughed a little. That snapped her out of it, and she gave him a very frosty glare. James poked his tongue out and winked. He'd fix her yet.

The march to the boats was a quick one, to try and keep as dry as possible. Cat grabbed his hand again, and James happily strode along with his four new friends, awaiting his first glimpse of his new temporary home.

The group rounded a corner to see a fleet of tiny boats bobbing obediently on the water, flickering paper lanterns, defying the inclement weather atop their collective bows.

But James hardly even saw them.

Argent light of a waxing moon bathed the ochre sandstone spires of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizadry. She was resplendent atop the cliff-face, buttressed towers reaching arms out, inviting them in, offering the safety, warmth, and a part of the sheer unyielding legacy that was Britain's most illustrious institute of magical education.

James had finally made it.


	2. Chapter 2

James ascended the broad marble steps up to the entrance hall with the rest of the first years. The rising chatter leaking out from the parted doors was matching his rising nerves. Cat was clutching to his arm by now as if he was her life support, and even Cassie had grabbed hold of James' sleeve, so as not to be swept up in the horde.

Clip and Freddy somehow strode ahead confidently, chatting away over who could pull off a better Wronski Feint, the seeker for the Montrose Magpies, or the new Pride of Portree sign-on, who was taking the league by storm. James knew the answer: his dad, but he was too nervous to do anything silly like open his mouth at this stage.

The students entered the relative warmth of the entrance hall, and while an elderly teacher who introduced herself as Professor Martin gave them a run-down of the sorting ceremony and a brief welcome, James' eyes wandered about the building.

This place was _massive._

Suddenly, James was worried about getting lost. What if he spent his whole first day just walking around, trying to find out how to get to class, or even worse, if he didn't even make it down to breakfast in the morning. Uncle George had told him about a Vanishing cabinet, what if he opened one of them, and got Vanished? Where do Vanished people even go?

He knew his dad had had a map that would have helped; the Marauders Map it had been called. His dad kept it in a frame in the living room, just a mouldy old bit of parchment now, but once upon a time, his Uncle Ron had told him, that map showed you the entire castle and all the people in it. Now _that_ would be a handy addition for any lost student.

Not to mention a mischievous one.

His dad always got a faraway look in his eyes whenever someone talked about that map though; he said it didn't work anymore. The four people who had created in (two of which James was named after, thank-you-very-much) had all since died, and with the last of them the magic of the map had ceased to be. Harry had offered it to Teddy once, as his dad was one of the map-makers, but Teddy refused; he knew how much it had meant to Harry.

James was snapped out of his reverie by the sound of the doors opening, and the full force of the noise generated by the Hogwarts student body crashed into the terrified first years. Professor Martin shooed them all into an orderly line, and they filed in between two of the house tables.

James couldn't help himself, he had to look up at the magical ceiling, and despite being totally ready for what it would look like, he still found his jaw dropping open at the sight. Slate-grey clouds roiling, shedding fat raindrops that looked so close he could reach up and touch them.

Eventually a raggedy line of dripping, fidgeting eleven-year-olds formed up along one wall of the Great Hall. James didn't like the way the older student were eyeing them up. He saw a few coins changing hands around the room and frowned, and wondered what those students were up to.

'Adams, Jonathon!' Professor Martin called with nary an introduction. James jumped. It was real now; the sorting, Hogwarts, the whole lot. It really was happening, why did he feel so detached all of a sudden, like he was walking through a dream. He thought he should be fretting, worrying at his buttons like Cat, or talking rapid-fire to himself like Cassie was, but here he was trying to work out why students were handing out money secretly under the tables, and trying to touch the magic rain falling from the ceiling. Was he ok?

Brooks, Holly, a slim girl with sparkling blue eyes and long, dark hair went to Slytherin.

James suddenly realised he hadn't asked any of his friends' last names. When were they going to be sorted? He hoped they were all in the same house. He hoped he was in _Gryffindor_. How had he not been worried about that until now?

His palms started sweating, and he was glad that Cat and Cassie had let go of them all of a sudden.

Christian, Dale, to Hufflepuff.

Still nobody that James knew had been sorted. The money was changing hands much more frequently around the tables, and he figured that they must have been betting on which house each student would end up in.

'Featherstone, Cassandra.' His Cassie? He felt her stiffen next to him. Definitely his Cassie. He put his hand on her back and gave her a gentle shove, which earned him glare number three, as he had named it, before she clambered up onto the stool to have out with the raggedy old Sorting Hat.

James' heart started beating faster as time stretched out. Had anyone else been up there this long? Why was Cassie looking so worried? He subconsciously grabbed hold of Cat's hand again. That's odd. He looked down and jumped back as if shocked, seeing that he had grabbed Clip's instead. Hands went firmly into pockets, nails digging into palms.

Finally, Cassie sighed, smiled, and the hat yelled.

'Ravenclaw!'

James couldn't hide his disappointment, but when she looked back his way he gave her a thumbs up and the best smile he could muster. She gave him the smallest of grins in return.

What if none of his friends ended up in his house. What if he was in Slytherin, he hadn't heard any names being called out that he knew for Slytherin. Holly Brooks was the only one that he could remember.

Anthony and Viola Greengrass both went to Slytherin. James was paying attention to all the names now; he might need to make new friends with these people when he was all alone in his new house.

'Lovegood, Kattala!' Huh. James supposed he wouldn't have like to have Arsehole as his last name either. Cat had been clever to get that changed.

She gave him a quick hug, and James whispered a hurried 'Good luck!' before she dashed up and popped down on the stool.

Fingers crossed in his pockets, James squinted at the hat, willing it to pick Gryffindor, or whichever house he was going to be in. Come on hat. Gryffindor. _Gryyyyyyyyfindooooooor._

'Gryffindor!'

James pumped a fist and cheered briefly, before doing the math and realising that P wasn't that far along the alphabet from L. The nerves sidled back onto the scene again.

Fifteen more names were called, James frantically memorizing them all in case they were going to be his friend.

'Potter, James.'

Oh gulping gargoyles. That was him.

Eyes set firmly ahead, letting the brief susurrus of whispers wash over him, James strode up and took his place upon the Stool of Sorting (he had decided on that name just now).

Before he knew it there was a smelly old hat on his head, covering his eyes, and the noise of the students was blocked out.

'Smelly?' Said the hat in his ear. 'That's not very nice. I know you James Potter. The first of the Weasley-Potter clan. Wotters, hmm? Peaseleys? Potteys, that's it. The first Pottey.'

'Hey!' James exclaimed. Then clapped a hand to his mouth. He had said that out loud. Laughter filtered through the hat and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

'You make for interesting reading James Potter. You have all of the foundations of a great wizard. I sense a power in you, one that not many others may possess. And a thirst to prove yourself that outshines even that of your father. I feel that you will do great things my boy, and wonder if that may not be cause enough for us all to fear.

'The choice, in the end, was never in doubt young man. It may be the only choice capable of keeping you on the right path, now go join your young friends over in GRYFFINDOR!'

James whipped the hat off and applause crashed over him, he was sure that it seemed a _lot_ louder than for anyone else. Before he realised what exactly he was doing he swept a graceful bow to the student body, which set them off all over again. Professor Martin gave him a very pointed _Ahem_ and gestured sharply to his seat.

Cat slid over and James dropped in next to her, immediately inundated with well-wishers, principal among them was his cousin Victoire, the sixth-year prefect. Dominique, markedly less reserved than her older sister, planted a big wet kiss on his lips, which left him very red in the face, and left Cat in fits of laughter.

The things the sorting hat had said to James were circulating around in his head. What had it meant by keeping him on the right path? He knew Aunt Hermione told him he needed to pay attention in class, keep up with his homework, and not take the path of a prankster, like Uncle George. This seemed like something else though, something more sinister. Almost like the hat thought he was going to be some sort of dark lord or something. Not likely, with Harry Potter as his father.

Still troubled, James settled into watching the sorting from the other side of the fence, occasionally chatting to his new house-mates, and trying to work out who was winning all the gambling. Everyone seemed to want to know about his family, and some of the older girls seemed very interested in what his dad got up to every day. Strange.

James was chatting with a dark-skinned boy name Emry, when something Professor Martin said caught his attention.

'Erm… Rain?'

James looked up, as did most of the rest of his classmates. It certainly was raining, but no more than it had been before Professor Martin asked it to. Cat elbowed him in the ribs, and he looked over at a girl who was walking up to the sorting hat. Rain? That was somebodies _name?_ There was a scattering of laughter around the hall when the students realised their mistakes, and James threw about a glare. It wasn't nice to pick on her just because she had a funny name.

James watched the girl as she strode up toward the Stool of Sorting. She walked straight-backed and confident, not with eyes downcast, fidgeting with buttons or hems of robes like so many others. James watched her cast her gaze over the staff table, before turning away, in what James could only describe as dismissal. She held out her hand to Professor Martin who looked a little taken aback, but handed over the hat. James watched her spin with a flourish and place the hat on her own head, perching gracefully on the edge of the Stool of Sorting, making it seem for all the world as if it were a throne.

No sooner had she sat down than an ear-splitting crack of thunder barrelled through the hall. Students screamed, and clapped hands to ears. Headmaster McGonagall stood up abruptly from her seat at the staff table and whipped out her wand, chanting spells inaudible to James from this distance.

The thunder and lightning raged on, students yelled, and ducked for cover under tables. Staff whipped out their wands and added their own strength to that of the Headmistress. Chaos reigned for a few minutes throughout the great hall, and at the eye of it all, calm and calculating, was a diminutive little girl called Rain.

After a good ten minutes of mayhem, the storm eventually subsided, and everyone realised that the hat had still not chosen a house for Rain. Professor Martin stepped towards the girl, but she shot her a glare that James thought would make Cassie jealous.

Minutes slunk by, all eyes in the hall were now on the figure perched graciously atop a three-legged stool underneath a tattered wizard's hat. Whispering began to reach a fever pitch, and coins were changing hands faster than James could keep track of.

Rain had a frown fixed on her face, which soon became a scowl. Smoke began to curl lazily out the top of the Sorting Hat and Professor Martin gasped, dashing forwards. Before she got there the hat cried out, more than a little desperately, James thought, 'Ravenclaw!'

And that was that.

Coins clinked, a single pair of footsteps echoed, but not a soul clapped, as a slim figure walked, with perfect poise, down from the staff table towards her fellow Ravenclaws. The majority of which didn't seem to know what to make of her.

James thought back to how he felt walking down that aisle, and how it must be terrible if no one was clapping, so he put his hands together, as loud as he could.

The girl, Rain, looked over at him sharply, a crack in her icy façade, and for a moment the two locked gazes. James gasped, he felt himself being sucked into that cool, icy gaze. The room spun, he felt like he was falling up towards the ceiling. He desperately grabbed onto the table to steady himself and before he could even tell if he was imagining it, whatever _it_ was finished. Rain broke the gaze and sat down next to Cassie. James thought those two might get along just fine.

The rest of the sorting played out in the background as everyone immediately began formulating theories on who exactly this mysterious girl was. Was the lightning and thunder something she did? Was she a dark witch? The next female Voldemort? But why wasn't she in Slytherin if that was the case? Uh, you're so prejudiced (that from Victoire to a snooty-looking seventh-year).

James was beaming by the end of the ceremony as Freddy and Clip, whose last name turned out to be Wallace, were both sorted into Gryffindor too, and sat down opposite him on the table. By this stage everyone was hungry, as they had waited for over a hundred students to be sorted, but headmaster McGonagall stepped up to speak before the food would appear.

'Welcome, all of you, to a new year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.' James could see why she scared Uncle Ron a little bit. 'First-years, welcome in particular. You are reminded, along with some of our more _adventurous_ older students that the Forbidden Forest is, with absolutely no exception, forbidden.'

Here she paused and gave a _very pointed look_ towards Hagrid as well.

'Additionally, all floors from the eighth and above are out-of-bounds to all first year students. As for the rest of you, access is strictly with a faculty escort or express permission _only._ Additional notices will be displayed on the notice boards in your common rooms. For now, let the feast begin.'

James felt like he had eaten his own body weight in food by the time the last treacle tart was vanished from the tables. He was leaning back-to-back with Cat on the bench seats, both holding their stomachs in pain, when a spectral head popped up through the table, causing Cat to jump in fright, and consequently, James to tumble to the floor in a very indecorous manner.

'Good evening first-years,' the ghost of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington greeted them amicably. Clip, who James recalled was a muggleborn, seemed to be in danger of either his eyes popping out of his head, or inhaling some form of flying animal through his mouth. Maybe a hippogriff.

Cat had leaned in and graced Sir Nicholas with a sort of seated curtsey that James thought would be a lot harder than it looked.

'Oh it's so lovely to finally meet one of the original ghosts of Hogwarts,' she cheered.

James couldn't help himself.

'Original?' he asked.

Sir Nicholas seemed to become very uncomfortable at this point in time.

Cat, oblivious, ploughed onwards.

'Oh yes, after the war,' there it was again, that strange nauseous feeling James got whenever someone mentioned the war, 'there were children who had been killed, students of Hogwarts dead in her very halls. My Mum says that because they were so young and afraid, and their souls were not ready to die, that a lot of them left involuntary imprints of themselves behind when they passed. Mum said it was terrible; semi-ghosts of children stuck in a continuous loop of their final moments. They had to exorcise them all of course, she watched some of it happen. She says it was the saddest thing she ever had to do.'

Sir Nicholas had floated through James halfway through Cat's story, but the lasting chill that he felt had little to do with the passing of that particular spectre.

So it was that James found himself unusually quiet as cousin Victoire rounded them all up to lead them to their dormitories. It had even slipped his mind completely to ask about the eighth floor and above until Freddy, ever the eye for a potential chance to cause mischief, asked in his stead.

As the group waited for a staircase to shift back towards them Victoire, in what James knew was her best teacher voice, explained.

'So the story of the eighth floor begins with the attack on the school by Lord Voldemort, back when our parents were at school.' James snapped out of is reflective state to listen, even though it sounded like it was about the war. Why was everything still always about the war? 'Voldemort destroyed large section of the school buildings when he attacked, and the damage was such that the castle was unable to rebuild under its own magical power. Some say that he had damaged the very Heart of Hogwarts when he tore down the wards around the school, and that is an event that hasn't occurred since the Founding.

'Following the attack, the school was closed for six months, and over a hundred of the finest witches and wizards from around the globe were brought in to try and fix the damage. Think on that for a second; over a hundred to repair what four were able to build.

'Now the Heart of Hogwarts is a very complicated magical entity, its existence has never been publicised, and there was never a need before so many were brought in with the goal of repairing the damage. It seems that no one is really sure what went wrong with the rebuilding; walls were mended, ceilings patched and rubble was cleared, and it was thought to increase the size of the school, as many foresaw a rise in the number of magical youth now that we live in times of unchallenged peace. But when the dust settled, and Hogwarts opened its doors once again all was not well. All of their beautiful new additions to the Castle, the new floors, wings, classrooms and memorials, were all faulty.

'The accepted wisdom is that there was an error in the sequence of Runic Imprinting onto the Heart, perhaps as simple as a single Rune out of place. Whatever the issue, it was too dangerous, the Heart still too volatile, to attempt to remedy. As a result, the eighth floor to the thirteenth, all of the New Hogwarts, lovingly crafted in memorial of the fallen, does not obey the rules of the rest of the castle.

'One may climb staircases for half a day and open a door only to emerge in the lowest castle dungeon. A door that on Monday may lead to an empty classroom, will lead to a broom cupboard on Tuesday, or a lavatory on Wednesday, or it may deposit the unwitting adventurer in the Great Hall between the hours of eight and nine on every odd-numbered day of a month ending in 'Y'. The eighth floor and above is a mystery, worse still it is entirely unknowable, and many a student has spent whole days lost above the seventh floor. It is because of this that no one in their first year may enter the eighth floor corridors, for it is a dangerous place. Students lost in there for the longest periods of time tell of hearing voices, noises that are certainly not human, but of course nobody has been able to ever prove such accounts.'

They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, and James, along with the rest of the first year Gryffindors was standing stock still, frozen in place, a chill creeping up his spine in response to cousin Victoire's eerie tale.

Cat, who was showing off her ample height by leaning forwards and resting her elbows on Clip's head, was the only one who spoke.

'Well if you ask me, it seems like the perfect tribute to Dumbledore.'

She skipped ahead through the portrait hole, dragging James along by the hand. He didn't look up at Victoire as he passed, but if he had he would have seen her frozen, a look of shock written vividly across her face.


	3. Chapter 3

Morning on the first day of classes found James, Clip, Freddy and Emry all heading down to breakfast together, surreptitiously following a group of sixth-year girls just to make absolutely sure that they were going the right way. James let out a breath he hadn't been aware that he was holding onto when he spied the familiar grandiose architecture of the main staircase leading down to the Great Hall. First hurdle of the day was cleared.

As the group crossed the Entrance Hall a small, brassy plaque edged with verdigris and set in an unimposing fashion adjacent to the heavy oaken doors caught James' eye. He lingered back as the others headed in to eat, to read the inscription:

 _This plaque is to commemorate the sacrifice made by Harry James Potter on May 2nd 1998. He did willingly, and with full knowledge of his actions, give up his life so that those within the walls of Hogwarts may be spared._

 _The last enemy that shall be destroyed is Death._

With stinging eyes and blurred vision James reached out to touch the plaque. He felt its warmth beneath his fingers, as if it had its very own form of life, of magical sustenance. As if it were part of the castle itself.

Not trusting himself to speak, James whispered a barely audible 'Thanks Dad,' before hurrying off to re-join his friends.

Breakfast was well underway by the time James arrived at the Gryffindor table, and he squeezed himself in between Cat and Freddy, who had joined two other first-year girls James remembered as Leah Ridley and Rosalie Gardner. Leah was frozen in a comical pose with her spoon halfway to her mouth while she stared agape at an article on the cover of the Daily Prophet.

'Someone broke the Mirror of Erised!' she gasped.

James frowned as he dragged a bowl of porridge towards himself, gladly accepting a spoon from Fred. That name was familiar; his father had mentioned a Mirror of Erised from his own first year.

'What's it say?' James prompted her, his curiosity piqued.

'Umm…' Leah skimmed through the paper, forgotten spoon of cereal slowly dripping milk into her lap. 'Ooh here we go, two weeks ago somebody broke into the Flamel Mausoleum and Memorial… Says they desecrated the tomb… Nothing was taken, but the Mirror was found shattered completely into tiny fragments. No magic to date has been able to resurrect the ancient artefact, and magical historians the world over are decrying it as the worst thing to happen to wizardkind since Voldemort.'

It seemed like a lot of to-do over a mirror, James thought.

'Did they catch who did it?' he asked.

Leah furrowed her brow as she skimmed further ahead in the article. James wasn't entirely sure, but he thought that by now her spoon had completed its mission of depositing its entire original contents onto the front of her robes.

'Yes! They caught two local wizards, names undisclosed, Priori Incantatem showed that it was their wands that had cast the spells but… Huh, that's odd.'

James was fairly sure that this point would have been an _excellent_ time to apply one of Cassie's signature eyebrow raises.

'What's odd?! Tell us!'

'Oh sorry! It says here that neither of the two wizards had any recollection of having performed the acts, and mental examination showed numerous indications of Memory Tampering. So far all attempts to recover the lost memories of the suspects have been unsuccessful.'

James got the same feeling in his chest that he got each time he asked his father the score in the latest quidditch match when his team had lost, but his father didn't know how to break it to him. This seemed bad, who was able to tamper with someone's memory so deftly that not even a Ministry Inquiry was able to resurrect it? He gave a nervous swallow. It sounded like something his father and Uncle Ron would talk about reading in the prophet back when Voldemort was coming into power.

A sharp voice from right behind James made him jump in his seat.

'Were you planning on utilising your cutlery this morning Miss Ridley? Or were you merely holding it in that fashion in order to admire its aesthetics?'

Leah looked down at the contents of her breakfast now happily soaking away into the fabric of her brand new robe and went _very_ red in the face. Professor Martin gave a roll of the eyes that Cassie could definitely learn from and flicked her wrist, the mess vanishing in an instant.

'Ooh thanks professor!' her relief was palpable.

'Now, if we are _quite done_ throwing our food about like so many toddlers I have your class timetables to hand out. First year Gryffindor… Let me see here.' She riffled through a stack of parchment held in one hand, and seven sheafs floated out to deposit themselves in front of the eager first-years. James was caught in a Leah-pose, his spoon halfway to his mouth as he studied his class line-up. Charms, Potions and double Herbology today. Seemed simple enough.

'Now, if you haven't any questions, I have-'

Professor Martin didn't get to tell them what she had to do, as James' spoon chose that instant to transfigure itself into a large rubber chicken, spraying James with a healthy serving of his own porridge.

'Ah Mister Potter… I feel that we are going to have our hands full with you this year.' The resignation was evident in Professor Martin's voice.

Leah was in a fit of giggles. 'Oh, we could have matched robes!' She squealed.

The sight of Fred falling off his chair in silent hysterics would have been sufficient to send James diving for his wand, had he known any good jinxes with which to hit him.

James was still scheming up a way to get back at Freddy when they took their seats in Charms class. Books out and wands ready, the pair shared an uncertain look; there wasn't a teacher in sight. With a shrug Fred dived back into his bag, and was midway through pulling out what looked like a _live polecat_ when the door to their class burst open, causing them to both jump, and Fred to offer up a rather loud 'Bloody hell!'

Into the room staggered a very old man, well James assumed that it was a very old man, as his face was hidden behind a teetering pile of books that reached halfway to the class ceiling. He was making man-type grunting noises, which was enough evidence for James.

Emry, who had sat up near the front of the class, leapt up out of his seat to help their ailing professor. No sooner than he had left his seat than a single dusty tome wobbled off the top of the pile, and fell with an unnaturally heavy _thunk_ , directly in the professor's path.

James knew how the scene was going to play out before it even happened. Unwittingly, their oblivious professor kicked the book on his way to the table, and it flat out refused to be moved. The precarious pile foreshadowed his own tumble to the unforgiving flagstones. Emry was too far away still to be of any help. James gasped and someone behind him squealed, as a flailing bundle of arms and legs and robes went down hard-

And _bounced._

James stared, agape, as the figure bounced off the floor, spun in mid-air and landed, seated, atop his desk, for all the world as if he had casually strolled in the door and sat down. Not to be outdone, his stack of books was currently in the process of organizing itself into a neat pile at the corner of his desk. James wasn't sure, but if he were to check he guessed he might see those books sorting themselves out in alphabetical order.

Dark cheeks flushed, Emry sidled back to his chair near the front of the class.

'Good morning first-years, I am Professor Norvel Budd, and I will be your Charms teacher for this year.' He paused here, but the class offered him nothing, sitting frozen like a bunch of stunned Cornish Pixies, gazing up at him with big eyes.

'Er… Well then, a quiet bunch. Very well… Let's see. Page seven of your textbooks, chapter titled Basic Introduction to the Theory of Charms and How to Cast Your First Spell.'

James heard Fred emit a little groan, they had both been hoping to get into the spell casting right away. He flipped open his own book and started reading.

 _Hello Dearest Reader, and welcome to Charms, the most exciting, innovative and fun-to-learn branch of magic! Charms is the discipline of imbuing a mundane object with a magical property designed by the will of you, the caster. In Transfiguration, a much more demanding branch of magic, you will be using both your will and your magic to force a change on the magical and non-magical makeup of an object. Charms is about applying your magic to add where before there was nothing, rather than change the natural makeup of the subject. Consequently it is a much less strenuous branch of magic, and as such is oft-overlooked in favour of more powerful spells, but in reality is one of the most versatile forms of magic, and in the hands of a creative mind, can be easily as powerful as the most rigorous of transfigurations._

 _When casting your first charm it is important to note the relevance of wand movements. Sloppy casting technique has led to…_

'Hey, James!' Freddy whisper-shouted.

James tried to give him a pointed look and get back to reading, it would have been what Aunt Hermione would have said to do, had she been there, but the reading was _boring_ and he had already had all of this stuff forced upon him as part of her brand new 'Hogwarts Pre-Reading and Prior Preparation Program', which he was pretty sure she had just dreamed up this past summer and wasn't actually Ministry-Mandated like she had tried to tell him.

And so, like his fathers' favourite All-Weather No-Fuss Self-Packing Family Tent, he folded under the slightest pressure, and leaned in to see what Freddy was cooking up.

Freddy had, apparently, returned the polecat and this time pulled out a small, black, wind-up device that James recognised instantly. A Decoy Detonator. With a gesture towards the front of the class Fred mouth the word 'Books' with a grin. James shot their professor a quick look, he was scratching away on a sheet of parchment with one hand, while idly twisting his wiry, frizzy grey hear with his wand in the other. James wasn't sure, but that didn't seem like a particularly good idea.

By the time James turned back Fred had already released the Detonator. The pair took to silently cheering it along on its trek across the classroom. The books, which were readjusting themselves every time they thought Professor Budd wasn't looking, started shifting frantically as the Detonator approached.

James was holding his breath, eyes darting between the books and their unmindful professor. Fred started a countdown under his breath.

'Three… Two… One… Go!'

And all of a sudden madness unfurled her wings and encompassed the front of the class.

A series of loud crashes, honks and sirens set the class to screaming and ducking for cover. The books, evidently not accustomed to being subject to loud noises, shot about the room at random. One flew up to the ceiling and stuck there, quivering in what looked like fright. Several jumped out the window, taking their chances with the outside world rather than remain in the madhouse that was the Charms classroom.

Professor Budd, having received an unholy fright, had hit himself with some sort of spell, and his hair was growing at an alarming rate and changing colour every second, from grey to brown to green, pink, yellow, and back again.

Under the cover of the chaos two boys shook uncontrollably beneath their tables, racked with fits of silent laughter.

The class was almost over by the time the books and the students were back under control.

In an attempt to achieve something meaningful for the class, Professor Budd lined them up in single file and asked them to come to the front and levitate a feather. James and Fred snuck right to the back, in the hope of running out of time before they would have to make an attempt.

Professor Budd was doing a lot of muttering, and running his hands through hair that was still a little more green than grey, as the students came forward one by one.

James kept one eye on the clock, which seemed to have decided to slow down again as the students trickled through with varying degrees of success. Emry managed to levitate his feather perfectly, and even got it to float around Professor Budd's head once before touching it back down gracefully. This earned a rambling exclamation of delight and five points for Gryffindor. Leah and Rosalie went one after the other and both only managed to flip their feathers over. They even had matching pouts as they trudged to the back of the class.

Ten minutes to go, James thought they might just get away without having to do it.

Cat's feather sat up on its spine and refused to take part in the exercise beyond that, and Clip wasn't able to move his at all.

With a single minute on the clock James' name was called up to make an attempt.

Professor Budd was giving him a beady-eyed look, and James swallowed nervously. Did he know about the Detonator? Suddenly it seemed a lot hotter in the classroom.

'Well Mister Porter, the stage is yours.'

'Er… Potter, sir.'

'What's that? Potter? Oh of course it is! Excellent, truly excellent. Well then, show us what you've got!'

James looked down at the innocuous feather, cleared his throat, swish-and-flicked: 'Wingardium Leviosa.'

Nothing.

'Perhaps another try then,' Professor Budd offered.

Sweat prickling the back of his neck and his palms, James tried again, a little more assertively.

The results were instantaneous.

The feather shot up toward the ceiling like an arrow from a bow and embedded itself in the centre of the book that had stubbornly refused to come back down. With a death-knell to rival any Banshee the two tumbled back to the desk, the feather dislodging itself on the way down, and floating gently, and innocently back to exactly where it had started from.

'Erm… Sorry about-'

James was cut off by a whoosh and a moment of intense heat as the feather combusted in front of them.

That broke whatever bonds had held the class in check up to that point, and as one they burst out in a raucous chorus of laughter.

'Oh dear Mister Potter that certainly was… Unique. Hmm… More practice I should think.' With a flourish he picked up the charred remains of James' feather and flicked his own wand. James' eyebrows climbed towards his hairline as the feather became a plump, white chicken which looked very confused at finding itself all of a sudden in a classroom under the scrutiny of thirty-odd eleven- and twelve-year-olds.

Another wave put the chicken inside a cage. It looked a little indignant about that change of situation, and ruffled its feathers accordingly.

'Sir? What exactly am I to do with a chicken?' James asked.

'This, Mister Potter, is to be your homework. Judging by that... Aggressive, reaction I very strongly suggest you do not under any circumstances try to levitate Egbert, but rather he will offer you feathers-' the chicken clucked here, and looked as if it had a different idea on the matter, '-and you will practice on them. I'm sure your friends will be able to help you, as many had excellent success today.'

'Uh, Sir, who's Egbert?'

'Why, the chicken, of course!'

Right. Of course it was.

By the time they arrived at the potions dungeon James was already well and truly sick of Fred's chicken jokes. Cat had renamed the chicken Egberta, on the premise that chickens were all girls, and that had apparently enamoured her to Egberta, to the point where she was the only allowed to pet her. James mentally rolled his eyes. He had a feeling that this was going to be a long day.

The Ravenclaws begun filing out of the dungeon and James stepped up on tiptoes trying to find Cassie. She was one of the last out, and surprisingly, latched arm in arm with the enigmatic Rain, chatting away in an animated fashion.

The pair stopped squarely in front of James. Cassie looked up at him, the ghost of a smile still on her face. 'Hello James Potter. Why do you have a chicken? This is Rain.'

James hesitated. He didn't want to have to explain in front of Rain about how terrible he had been in Charms. This was _Rain;_ the girl was already half-legend for whatever it was she had or hadn't done during the sorting. Depending on who you listened to she was destined to be the next Dumbledore, or Voldemort. James would bet that she wouldn't accidentally set fire to anything-

'Hello James Potter.'

James was dragged unceremoniously out of his train of thought and back to the present. Unfortunately for him the present involved him standing, holding a chicken in a cage and staring open-mouthed at a girl with the _single most enticing_ voice he had ever heard.

His mouth worked silently for a second, and their gazes locked. His brown eyes met her sea-green, and he instantly felt that same dizziness. He felt like he was falling towards her, the narrow gap between them somehow now interminable. He took a steadying step, and with great effort broke the eye contact. Immediately the world righted itself and he found himself able to function once more.

'Hi Rain. I liked your fireworks,' he said to a patch of strawberry-blonde locks above her left eye. Fireworks? Seriously? He mentally kicked himself.

'Well _I_ like your chicken.' With that the two girls brushed passed them, leaving James feeling both very drained and _very_ confused. Fred grabbed his arm and dragged him into the classroom to sit down.

Professor Elise Ellfrick was waiting impatiently for the first-years to take their seats. She was a sharply dressed, middle-aged witch with dark hair tied back in a tight bun. James thought that she would be very good at telling people off. After a no-nonsense introduction which further affirmed his assumptions, she set about explaining today's lesson.

'I have on my desk a set of muggle marbles, which, by the end of the lesson, I want each of you to be able to both expand to the size of a beach ball and secondly to bounce high enough to hit the ceiling. I will have this half of the class-' she gestured to James and Fred's half, 'brew an Engorgement Elixir, and the other half will create a Bouncing Brew. Instructions are in your books and _James Potter why have you brought a chicken into my classroom!'_

James leapt off his seat.

'Er… Professor Budd, he gave it to me. To help practice with levitating feathers. I ah… I had a little trouble in his class.' A few snickers around the room at that understatement. Professor Ellfrick gave him a level gaze.

'That thing is not to leave its cage under _any circumstances_ do you hear me?'

'Egberta. Her name's Egberta,' James corrected her. That was a mistake.

' _What did you say Mister Potter?'_

'Ah nothing, nothing Professor. Kept in her cage. Will do.'

Professor Ellfrick waved her want and muttered 'Silencio.'

Egberta squawked, very audibly, and a little smoke swirled out from her rear end. She looked positively affronted.

The Professor let out a sigh and spun away muttering under her breath about 'That insufferable old man.'

Midway through the class, and James and Fred had their Engorgement Elixir bubbling away merrily in the cauldron, the hue changing slowly from slate grey to the brilliant silver that the book asked for with every stir. Fred had done the vast majority of the work up to this point, as James' time had been split largely between trying to keep a disgruntled chicken as quiet as possible, and gazing distractedly up at the rafters contemplating what it was that set him off whenever Rain got near.

It had gotten so bad that at one stage Fred had suggesting just strangling her and be done with it.

James was _mostly_ sure he had been referring to the chicken.

In an attempt to atone for his lacklustre performance, James held out a hand to take the mixing spoon from Fred, and finish the tedious process of stir and counter-stir for the required ten minutes. Fred gladly handed it over and leaned back in his seat, fishing for something in his bag. That couldn't be good news. James dragged the cauldron across the bench to place it more in front of himself. He lazily twirled the spoon, three times clockwise, twice counter-clockwise. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

He slid easily back into his earlier reverie. Maybe he could ask his dad about the dizziness thing. He had heard that his father often had felt strange around Voldemort. That was a scary thought. Idly, James reached for his wand from where it lay on the table. He felt his fingers brush it, heard it roll, and saw it teeter on the edge of the bench for a second before falling, seemingly in slow motion, towards the ground.

Right onto where Egberta's cage was sitting.

Oh. Oh dear.

With an appalling bang and an indignant squawk a smoking ball of white feathers shot up from underneath James and Fred's table and careened about the classroom. Students began abandoning their concoctions and seemed caught in a mixture of point-and-laugh or duck-and-cover. James was wondering if the ground might obligingly open up and swallow him.

Professor Ellfrick, who had stepped out of the classroom briefly, returned and immediately began simultaneously shouting at James and trying to shoot down the distressed chicken.

'James Potter I swear to Merlin – Stupefy! – When I get this chicken back I'm going to – Incarcerous! – Ram it so far down your throat you will be – Impedimenta! – Defecating feathers for a week! Immobulus!'

The final spell hit Egberta clean, but instead of freezing her, it sent her spiralling downwards right into James and Fred's cauldron of half-finished Engorgement Elixir.

James made a desperate lunge to try and subdue his rogue chicken, but she popped right back out of the cauldron as if fired from a cannon and up onto one of the rafters, where she scrambled for footing.

The class members who weren't hiding beneath desks all shared a collective gasp as, to James' absolute horror, Egberta suddenly began expanding. She quickly became twice, three times her normal size and wasn't slowing down. With a crash James noted Freddy falling off his chair in hysterics, and wondered in passing if he might not end up in the hospital wing from lack of oxygen.

James had, up until this point, been labouring under the impressions that things could not possibly get any worse. That theory was blown out of the water when his giant chicken upended a cauldron of Bouncing Brew and simultaneously took a hit from Professor Ellfrick's Impediment Jinx.

The results were terrifying.

A rotund chicken the size of a large dog was now bouncing violently around the potions dungeon, knocking over cauldrons, shattering ingredient jars, and threatening the continued wellbeing of anyone game enough to poke their head up to watch the farce.

Tears were streaming down Fred's face, the Professor's screaming had become completely unintelligible, and members of the class had begun to make a break for the relative safety of anywhere in Hogwarts that wasn't the same room as James Sirius Potter.

It took another fifteen minutes and Professor Ellfrick physically wrestling Egberta into a new cage before the mayhem died down. The classroom looked like a warzone; spilled potion all over the floor, a dusting of shattered glass, and the majority of the chairs and tables overturned.

James had been given the dressing down of a lifetime, and detention until he was 'old enough to be concerned about the whereabouts of his daughter on a Friday night', whatever that meant. It sounded ominous. Professor Ellfrick had finally shooed him out the class, her usually-neat hair in complete disarray, cheeks flushed. James thought she was going to burst a blood vessel when he had to sneak back in because he had forgotten Egberta in her cage.

This was rapidly turning into the worst first day of school on record. Maybe there was a trophy for that in the trophy room.

Lunch was a sorry affair. Fred still had not stopped laughing, and apparently had told _the entire school_ about James 'prank'. He was getting claps on the back from older students he didn't know. A bunch of Gryffindors actually gave him a standing ovation when he entered the hall. Needless to say Cassie was not impressed in the slightest.

After lunch she had dragged him by his robes to a side room off the Entrance Hall, which was more of a broom cupboard if James was honest.

'James Potter what _on earth_ were you thinking disrupting a class like that? That was an excellent potions lesson, Professor Ellfrick taught us all about the mixing of two different potions, it can be _really dangerous_ and you just go and pull a stunt like that? Someone could have been _hurt_ James! Someone could have been sent to the hospital wing!'

James desperately tried to get a word in, to tell her that he hadn't meant it, that it had been an accident. He wanted to learn all about combining potions too, Ellfrick had given him two feet of parchment on that very subject to write by the end of the week.

'Cassie, I didn't mean-'

' _How many times do I have to say don't call me that!_ And this is exactly what I meant on the train James; I am not going to hang around with someone with such a blatant disregard for the rules.'

With that she smacked him on the top of her head with her Dragon Book, shoved open the door and stalked out. James followed, calling out after her.

'Cassie wait!' She ignored him completely.

The same group of Gryffindors who had applauded James upon his entrance to the Great Hall chose this time to walk out and see a flustered young James Potter emerge with a girl from 'Broom Cupboard 69' as it was known in certain circles. A second hearty round of cheering and applause followed.

James looked on to where Cassie had disappeared up the staircase, wondering forlornly if he had just lost his first friend.

Dull grey clouds wept drizzly rain onto the roof of the greenhouses, where first year Gryffindors and Slytherins were gathered together. Had James been the introspective type he would have noted how well the weather suited his current mood. Professor Longbottom was addressing the class on today's practical assignment: Repotting Bouncing Bulbs.

'Cheer up mate,' Freddy whispered in his ear. 'These things are harmless, Mum grows a patch at home, nothing can go wrong here, trust me.'

A recollection of Harry telling James to be very sceptical about trusting Freddy in certain areas leapt to mind.

'Today, class, we will be repotting this batch of juvenile bouncing bulbs, they're only about as big as your head, but they are quite energetic at this age, so make sure you get them in a firm grip, like this, and tug sharply. Then back into the fertilised soil in these larger, grey pots. Any questions? Good, now I'm going to need you to split into pairs, one from each house-'

As one the entire student body took a single step away from where James was standing.

James groaned. This might turn out to be a long lesson.

Holly Brooks was the unfortunate soul that ended up paired with James. He remembered her from the sorting. She had long, dark hair that she tied back in an intricate braid, pale grey eyes and a shy smile. She seemed a little nervous about being stuck with James, so he tried his best to be friendly and show her he was _definitely not_ about to blow anything up.

'Can I tell my mum that I got to work with you today?' She asked, nervous, as together they tipped dirt on top of another squirming bulb. 'She knows your dad, I think. She was a couple of years behind him at school.'

'Yea sure, we can send them a picture if you have a camera. I don't have any friends in Slytherin yet.'

Holly was positively glowing at the mention of being James' friend. She hunted about in her bag for a camera. James hailed Freddy and got him to take the picture for them.

They lined up on the bench, both holding a bulb as if just about to pull it out of the pot.

'On three say Kneazle,' James said.

Holly giggled at that, and her cheeks flushed.

'One, two, three, Kneazle!'

Fred snapped the shot, a cloud of purple smoke shooting out the top of the camera. A stray breeze wafted the smoke into James' face and he inhaled a good lungful. It made his eyes burn and he ripped out the biggest sneeze he could ever remember.

Unfortunately, he had still been holding onto the bouncing bulb.

The plant ripped out of his and Holly's grip, sending the pair of them tumbling towards the ground. Holly let out an ear-splitting squeal, and landed on top of James with an 'Oof.'

Professor Longbottom was yelling something that James didn't quite hear. He was too busy dealing with a rapidly growing sense of déjà vu, and trying to push himself up in time to catch an excitable bouncing bulb.

The class, now familiar with the drill, began congregating near the exits, and Freddy, ever present to lend encouragement, was once again on the ground in stitches. Professor Longbottom was trying to wade through a sea of nervous first-years to get to catch the bulb. James and Holly both took a dive at it when it hit the table, both missed spectacularly, and then to add injury to insult the bulb smacked Holly clean in the face, sending her tripping backwards to fall on her backside.

James left damage control to Professor Longbottom and ducked down next to Holly to see if she was all right. She had her face in her hands, and when she looked up at James he saw a black eye already forming. Tears welled up, and she stood up abruptly, pushing past him and dashing out the door. A couple of her friends followed suit, but not without shooting James several withering glares beforehand.

Great, that was two friends in one day. At this rate the entire castle would hate him by weeks end.

After class, to which Holly did not return, Professor Longbottom asked James to stay behind. If he got another round of detention he was likely to break down on the spot.

Professor Longbottom – Neville – paced back and forth behind his desk at the front of the greenhouse. All the other students had finished for the day, and the sounds of merriment trickled in invitingly through the open windows.

'Now what's this I hear about you causing trouble in every single one of your classes today James? I promised your father I would keep an eye on you, and as head of your house it is doubly my responsibility, but this is ridiculous. It's very disappointing. I had hoped that you might take your education a bit more seriously, as there were many in your family who fought so hard for you to have this opportunity at all.'

That made James miserable, and he looked down at his shoes, trying to find a way to tell the professor that it had all been an accident, he was taking his learning seriously, he wanted to levitate feathers and know about combining potions, and re-pot bouncing bulbs, but no words seemed to come.

'James, when I started Hogwarts I had a legacy hanging over my head as well. It overshadowed everything I did for years, because I was too afraid that I wasn't worthy of it. In the end it took a war and a Dark Lord to bring me out of it, but ever since then I've been my own person, and I have re-made it as _my_ legacy, _my_ history.

'You have come here named for two of the greatest troublemakers in Hogwarts history, and from a family full of people with little respect for the rules. That is not who you have to be. Don't let that fact make your decisions for you, because you will not be remembered by anyone if all you do is stay in the shadow of people who came before you. You need to work on staying on the right path. And I think that path starts with an apology to Miss Brooks.'

Somehow, what Neville had said made James feel a little better. He knew he didn't want to be just another trouble maker, not just Harry Potter's son. He would show them that, he would show Neville that, because the thought of Neville being disappointed in him seemed all of a sudden a lot worse than a forever's-worth of detentions from Professor Ellfrick.

'Yes sir,' James said with renewed energy. 'And I am sorry for causing trouble. It won't happen again.'

'See that it doesn't,' Neville said with a forgiving smile. 'Now run along, I'm sure you've got homework to do, and a friend to apologize to.'

James dashed out, feeling much better, maybe the day hadn't been so bad after all.

He got almost all the way to the portrait before he realised he had forgotten Egberta.

Twenty minutes later James stumbled into the Gryffindor common room and was immediately hit by a wave of cheers. A few people broke out into a song along the lines of 'Potter is our King'. Fred clapped him heartily on the back wearing a grin from ear to ear.

This prankster business was rapidly spiralling out of hand, but James pushed through the crowd determinedly, avoiding handshakes, and offers of sweets that looked suspiciously like something from the latest Skiving Snackboxes.

Up in his room James pulled the curtains shut around his bed and took a feather from Egberta. His light was still on late into the night, and if one listened closely, they would hear a whispered 'Wingardium Leviosa' every minute or so.

James was determined, he needed to get this right to show Cassie that he really was serious about his school. First thing tomorrow he was going to find Holly and apologize, then study all he could until he could do the perfect levitation for Cassie. He felt like if he could manage that then she would take him back, and want to be friends again.

It was after midnight when James' light finally flickered out. He lay on his side, jaw set, whispering quietly to himself a single line over and over.

'I'm going to make my _own_ shadow.'


	4. Chapter 4

The morning of the second day of classes dawned bright, the sun setting the tops of the Forbidden Forest aflame as it crept slowly up above the distant mountains.

James had awoken early, and spent more time trying to levitate his feather. Every time it still burnt out in a puff of smoke after he tried it, and now instead of shooting up to the ceiling as a dangerous projectile it flat-out refused to move. He was beginning to think that Professor Budd had given him an anti-magic chicken as some sort of joke punishment for the Detonator Debacle.

As a result of James' renewed vigour and determination to make up for yesterday's antics, he was the first to arrive at his Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom that morning. He shot a furtive glance around the room before choosing a seat near the front and taking out his book to do a bit of pre-reading. Aunt Hermione would have been beaming with pride.

James was partway through reading about the Seven Surefire Steps to Stump Sphinxes when he heard an odd step-thump, step-thump sound coming from the hallway. He spun in his chair to see a student walking into the class, carrying a stack of rolled-up parchment. She had short blonde hair that didn't quite reach her shoulders, and a round face with rosy cheeks. She seemed to be singing to herself under her breath as she strode up the aisle between the desks.

Well James had _thought_ that it was a student, but the unmistakeable embroidery around the hem of the robe that he noticed as she approached marked the girl out as a teacher. James thought she looked younger even than some of the older students already at the school. She evidently didn't see him as she step-thumped her way towards the front of the class. That was when James noticed that she _only had one leg_.

She stopped as she spotted James staring at her, and gave a friendly wave and a wink.

'Check it out, pretty neat huh, engraved it all myself,' she hiked her robe up to above her knees and stuck out the leg for James to examine. The woodwork was indeed carved intricately, with delicate patterns of flowers and scrollwork entwined about its entire length.

'It happened a couple years ago,' she continued, in response to his unasked question. 'It was during an Auror training run; one of the other trainees slipped when casting a spell, and I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Your Dad was there. You _are_ James Potter, right?'

James nodded his assent.

'He was co-ordinator at the time, he was the one who took me to St. Mungo's. He's great, your Dad. He never lets anything phase him. Real calm the whole time.'

James remembered the night his Dad had come home after the accident, he had been absolutely distraught, threatening to quit right on the spot, trying to take all the blame himself. It had taken Ginny long into the night to calm him down, and he had been shaky and on edge for the next week.

Magic was dangerous.

'That was the end of my Auror career anyway,' the Professor continued with a wistful smile. 'And here I am, back at Hogwarts, trying to teach you lot how to not end up like me.' Her expression was a little grim for James' liking. Suddenly he recalled her name, from one of his fathers' tear-filled rants the night after her injury.

'Zoe Meadows,' he breathed.

'One and the same.' She forced a smile back on her face and straightened, wincing slightly as her weight shifted back onto the wooden leg. James returned the smile, trying to make it show her that teaching at Hogwarts was just as important as being an Auror, and that she would be able to do just as much good. He wasn't sure if he achieved any of it.

'Well, that'll be the rest of them,' she said, as the class started trickling in the door. She raised her voice so the incoming students would hear. 'Now, if you are as much trouble as I hear you were yesterday Mister Potter then I will be having some very stern words with you _and_ your father.' She gave him a cheeky wink before spinning away to the front of the class.

James made quite sure that Cat and Clip sat on either side of him for this class, just in case Fred decided that he had something in that damned bag that needed to see the light of day. He had even left Egberta back up in his room, despite several very vocal protests. Today was the day where nothing went wrong. He was sure of it. He was going to _make_ it so.

Zoe – Professor Meadows – made each student stand up and introduce themselves to the class, plus say one spell that they wanted to learn this year and why. James chose 'Expelliarmus'. His Dad had secretly been teaching him the wand movements and the tricks to casting it, and he thought that would be one spell he could probably be top of the class at.

The last student to give their name and spell was Emry, who waxed eloquent on the pros and cons of the Full Body Bind Curse for at least ten minutes before a sheet of parchment shot up and wrapped itself around his face, effectively silencing him. James could have sworn he saw Professor Meadows hastily tucking her wand back up her sleeve after that.

A few students had begun to pull books out of bags after this, anticipating the lesson proper to begin, but Professor Meadows waved them away. 'We'll get to all that reading and learning later,' she said with a merry laugh. 'For now, who wants to hear a few cool stories about Auror training school?' Nearly every hand in the class shot up. James liked Professor Meadows already.

The class ended just as she was getting to the climax of a story about cracking down on a group of witches and wizards who were illegally exporting powdered unicorn horn throughout Europe. She paused just as one of her colleagues had been struck by a Full Body Bind, and another blasted off the dock which they were duelling on into the water. She was one against three, with only her wand, a single use of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder and a length of Anti-Apparition rope.

The class groaned collectively as she stopped the story and clapped her hands together. 'Homework!' She yelled. James shot a panicked look at Clip, how were they supposed to do homework if they hadn't learnt anything yet? 'I want no more than a foot of parchment on how you would have captured all three of the Hastings Horn Smugglers _and_ saved Bryce and Wetherington. Class dismissed!'

James thought that she just might be the _coolest teacher ever._

On the way to Transfiguration, James found himself walking with Clip, who was equally enthralled by their new defence professor.

'She was great, really puts into perspective the type of things that we'll be learning, you know? Clip was saying, as they waited for a stubborn staircase to change back so they could get to the classroom. James wasn't totally sure what he meant by that, but nodded nonetheless. 'Instead of just rushing in learning spells left and right, gives you a good sense of the _why_ behind it.'

James thought that Clip seemed a little too relieved about not having to do any magic, and it wasn't the first time he had mentioned it. When James pressed him on the topic Clip looked down at his shoes and scuffed at the flagstones.

'I'm just… I'm sort of having trouble with the whole making magic thing,' Clip admitted in a small voice. 'The feather in Charms, plus I've tried a few other spells in my spare time, nothing seems to work for me.' He paused and swallowed a couple of times, looking terrified of what he was about to say. 'They don't ever… They don't ever send kids back do they? Kids like me? Muggleborns that just can't do magic? You don't think they made a mistake with me?'

His voice had trailed away into barely a whisper by the end of that last sentence and James stopped in his tracks, stunned. He couldn't imagine being scared that someone was going to take away his magic from him; magic was the best thing in the world, it _was_ his whole world. If he had come here thinking that someone could just take it away from him _like that_ , because he wasn't good enough at it, he would have felt as scared as Clip looked.

James felt very much like this was a private conversation, and so he pulled Clip aside through an unlocked door. The two of them clambered into an uncomfortably small broom closet. James cleared his throat, not really sure how to go about this.

'Look Clip, my family has been wizards for, like, ever. My Aunt is the Head of the Department of Magical Education over at the Ministry. No one has ever said anything about sending a muggleborn student home, you were chosen to come to Hogwarts, right? They don't make mistakes about that. Whatever it is that knows if you're a wizard or not, it's never wrong, it just doesn't make mistakes.' James tried to force all the conviction he could into his voice, the truth was he had no idea what it was that somehow _just knew_ which students all across the country were born to be wizards and witches, especially the muggleborn ones.

Something that James had said seemed to work though, as Clip offered him a wobbly half-smile in return.

'Your Aunt is Hermione Granger? The one who started the Prep Program, and sent me all the books and things about Hogwarts when I was seven?' This seemed to cheer Clip up even further, and James saw him visibly relax in the dim light. He supposed that the Pre-Reading and Prior Preparation Program might not have been such a made-up thing after all. Come to mention it, he did recall his Aunt spending a very stressful couple of months around his own seventh birthday when she had been trying to 'push a bill through'. Through what James didn't know, but it seemed like she was the reason that Clip was able to learn all about Hogwarts and Dragons and the world of magic more than just a month before his eleventh birthday. That thought made him feel happy.

'You can study with me if you want,' James offered. 'I still can't levitate a feather without nearly burning down the room, and I'm the only one in first year who managed to nearly knock someone unconscious with a bouncing bulb. I think maybe we both could use it.'

'Thanks James,' Clip smiled warmly. 'I just… I just never really felt like I fit in back home, at school and stuff. Until I came here that is, it sort of feels like this is the first place I can really call home. Does that sound dumb?'

James smiled back encouragingly; he knew someone else who had felt _exactly_ like that in his first year, and he had gone on to save the Wizarding World. He told Clip it wasn't dumb at all.

The two pushed their way out of the broom closet, careful to avoid the clutter, at the exact time a group of older Gryffindor students who were fast becoming familiar to James happened by.

'All right Potter!' One of them yelled. 'We won't judge!'

Their laughter followed the two boys down the hall. James had no idea what they were talking about, but Clip had gone _very_ red all of a sudden.

By the time they arrived at the Transfiguration classroom the halls were devoid of life; they knew they were late. Heartbeat quickening at the thought of landing another set of detentions James pushed on the door eagerly, hoping perhaps their Professor might be late, too.

The handle turned, but the door didn't budge and James smacked his nose hard against unforgiving, polished wood.

'Ah!' He cursed, 'Bloody hell that _hurt.'_ He touched his finger to his nose to see if there was any blood. His eyes were watering, and the pain lanced across his entire face.

Clip, who was _definitely not_ laughing, tried the door with a little less fervour.

'Huh,' he offered helpfully. 'We appear to have discovered what happens when one is late to class.'

He knocked firmly three, four times. No one answered.

As James' agony subsided to a more manageable level he paced the hallway, getting more impatient by the second. If another teacher caught them out here they'd surely be given detention.

'I read about a spell,' said Clip, a little more productive this time. 'But I've never tried it.'

'Alohomora, I know that one, too.' James agreed. 'I'll try it if you want.'

Clip cast a sidelong nervous glance at James' wand. If being late to class was possibly worth a detention then burning down the door would _definitely_ do it.

James strode up to the door, exuding as much confidence as possible, and thinking of very wet things. A puddle, a stream, the shower, rain... Rain…

'Damn it,' James swore, as he lost his train of thought. He cleared his throat, hefted his wand towards the door and opened his mouth–

The door swung inwards without any warning. James looked down at his wand, confused. He jumped when a voice sounded from within the classroom.

'So nice of you to join us gentlemen, I hope I haven't impressed dreadfully upon your obviously busy schedule, by being so inconsiderate as to schedule this lesson at an apparently inconvenient time for you both?'

What was it with everyone around here and their big words? James had to stop himself from openly frowning at his teacher.

'Sir, we're really sorry,' Clip begun. But their teacher wasn't having any of it.

'I suggest,' began the professor, as though he was trying to keep himself from erupting, 'that you go over and stand in that corner, facing the wall. Quickly now, before I decide to use the pair of you as subjects for some demonstrations that I am about to perform.'

James certainly didn't like the idea of being transfigured into anything, and apparently neither did Clip. The pair of them practically tripped over themselves as they scrambled to get to the aforementioned corner. James picked a spot in front of a portrait of a very self-righteous witch, who took it upon herself to cast admonishing glares at the two of them and _harrumph_ every minute or so.

Behind the two latecomers the lesson proceeded as normal, as if they weren't there.

'As I was saying class, my name is Professor Artimeus Plye, I will be your transfiguration professor for the duration of your stay at Hogwarts. Transfiguration is a very exhaustive branch of magic, and likewise a very powerful one. You are enforcing your will upon the subject of your transfiguration with such force as to change its physical form. Observe.'

James made to turn around, but the witch in the portrait brandished a teapot at him and shouted 'Don't you dare laddie! Don't think you be the first to be getting this punishment! He put me here for a reason, did good Mister Plye.'

Whatever was going on behind James sounded _very_ exciting; the class was gasping, and there were a lot of _oohs_ and _aahs._ He tried to catch a look out the corner of his eye but every time the witch would shake her teapot and scold him anew.

Evidently she took her job very seriously.

The two boys shot each other many a mournful look as the class laughed and applauded what James could only assume was some of the coolest magic he would have seen since he had arrived at school.

At one point their guardian looked up from the tea she had been brewing for the last fifteen minutes, and said distractedly: 'Oh, I like this part.'

The sentence hadn't even processed in James' brain when something landed on his back. Something _big._ Something _with a lot of legs._ He let out a scream that would have been very reasonable had it come from, say, Leah, or Cat, or perhaps a banshee being run over by the Hogwarts Express.

The class roared in laughter as James frantically swatted at something easily the size of a large Kneazle that was crawling on his back. Before he could do any real damage, however, Professor Plye flicked his wand and it disappeared altogether.

'Well, class,' he said with a chuckle. 'That concludes our demonstration of the Seven Forms of Transfiguration, for the animate and inanimate. If you will turn your books to page thirteen, and copy down the Forms, and associated Rules.'

The laughter died away pretty sharply at that.

'I think it may be time for our delinquent duo to return to the ranks, as well.' The professor gestured to two seats right up the front of the class. James shot Clip a look and they made their way sheepishly to sit down.

At least the rest of the class passed without incident. Although, James wondered if two feet of parchment on the Seven Forms of Transfiguration and why they should never be intermixed didn't quite come under the category of 'incident'.

Lunch saw a slightly dejected James join a group of excitedly nattering first years at the Gryffindor table. Cat sidled over so he could sit next to her.

'Check this out troublemaker!' Called Freddy, as he slid across a piece of parchment. James smoothed it out to read, and Cat leant her head on his shoulder, evidently to do the same.

 _FIRST YEARS:_

 _Trouble with Tricky Trapdoors? Problems with Pesky Passages? Are your Corridors not Cooperating?_

 _We have the solution for you!_

 _Gather this Sunday at 10am outside the Great Hall for the inaugural First-year Acclimatization Readiness Training class._

 _A fun, interactive way to learn the ins and outs of the Hogwarts Castle. Late to potions and need to know the nearest shortcut? A call of nature catch you unaware and you need the closest facilities? Learn it all at this week's F.A.R.T meeting._

 _Students will be placed in teams and set a series of challenges that will take them throughout the castle, familiarising themselves with every nook and cranny along the way. Prizes for the winning team!_

 _Meetings will be held throughout the year, and the team who scores the most wins unlocks the mystery Grand Prize!_

 _Bonus! Arrive by 9:45 and get an insight into the mysterious Eighth Floor from our very own Professor Neville Longbottom, one of the Hundred who helped rebuild Hogwarts._

 _See you there, first-years. Happy hunting!_

James looked at Fred. He shrugged in reply. Sunday was the day after Quidditch trials this weekend. James wasn't sure if he wanted to spend the day running around the castle if he was already sore from a full day on the pitch.

Cat, however, had other ideas.

'Ooh this will be excellent!' she squealed. From where her head had been resting on James' shoulder this was quite loud. 'Maybe we will get to find the Chamber of Secrets, or the Room of Requirement. Maybe they'll even let us into the eighth floor for a look.'

Cassie had chosen this point in time to wander past their spot at the table. She couldn't resist herself upon hearing Cat's outburst.

'Honestly, Kattala,' she scoffed. 'Everyone knows that the Chamber was sealed again for good after the last time it was opened. And the Room of Requirement? _Everyone_ knows that's a myth. I mean, a room that just magically happens to appear so that the students can form their own little army to fight off Voldemort but _no one_ else can get in? Seems a little too convenient for me.'

Cat mumbled something about what her mum had told her into the neck of James' sweater. It gave him goose bumps all down one side.

James tried to catch Cassie's eye as she stalked past, but she was very pointedly ignoring him. He called out after her, but she didn't even stop to turn around.

Cat was looking a little upset and wiping at her eyes when James turned back to the table. He felt a pang of annoyance at Cassie for upsetting her, and pulled her into an awkward sitting hug. Cat was a hugger, James knew.

'I'll come to the F.A.R.T party with you Cat, _I_ think it sounds like loads of fun.'

Fred sniggered and slapped the table. 'Well I'll be damned if I'm going to miss out of anything called a fart party! I'm in, too.'

When they all got up to head to their next class Cat had a smile back on her face, her long silver-blonde hair bouncing happily as she skipped off with her friends.

Double Charms with the Hufflepuffs seemed to drag on forever that afternoon. The sun lanced in through the window right onto James' desk, and he found himself in a desperate battle just to stay awake. They had moved on from levitating feathers, much to James' relief, and Professor Budd was lecturing them all on the ins and outs of 'Charm Etiquette'. Or something.

'Now one must always be careful to select the Charm based on the subject one wishes to modify. It is imperative…' The professor's voice drifted in and out of focus.

James hadn't seen Holly all day. He remembered his promise to Professor Longbottom, as soon as the class was over he would go searching for her.

'… Engorgement Charm must _never be used_ on any part of the human anatomy. There is the cautionary tale of the young wizard who, in order to impress a lady love…'

James panicked a little, where did Holly hang out? He supposed the library was as good a place as any to start looking. Maybe he would take a few feathers from Egberta and look up the Levitation Charm while he was there. That ought to impress Cassie.

'…Violent explosion, and despite a lengthy stay in St. Mungos, he was never quite the same.'

There were a few disgusted noises coming from around the room. James looked up to see what he had missed. Cat was looking even more pale that usual.

Mercifully, the class ended shortly after that, and James rushed up to the dormitory to fetch his things and begin the Holly Hunt.

It wasn't until much later, after dinner (because you can't hunt on an empty stomach, James decided) that he found her, nestled away in a quiet corner of the library behind a very large book called _Transfiguration for the Talentless: Ten Top Tips for Beginners._

James approached, suddenly very nervous. He cleared his throat, and saw Holly jump, and slam the book down, sliding her bag on top of the cover. James barely stopped himself from giving a yell of fright; she had a nasty bruise on her left eye. He immediately felt even worse.

'So, erm… Trouble with Transfiguration?' He offered lamely.

Her cheeks flushed, and she shot him a scathing look.

'No. I just want to… Anyway, what does it matter to you? Come to make fun of me after hitting me in the face with a plant? Everyone else is already laughing at me anyway.'

This was going south fast. James scrambled to come up with something to say, desperate to salvage at least one of his floundering friendships.

'No, I didn't… I mean, I'm sorry… Holly it was an accident… I'm rubbish at transfiguration too,' was what came out. Interesting choice, brain. 'I showed up late and had to stand in a corner while Professor Plye threw giant spiders at me…'

He trailed off as Holly started giggling. James barely held in an enormous sigh of relief, and slid in to the seat next to her.

'He told us about that,' she managed in between fits of laughter. 'But I didn't know it was _you.'_

James offered a guilty smile.

'Holly, I'm really sorry about the plant thing. I just had the worst first day. Everything was going wrong, and I felt so bad after it. I wanted to come say sorry straight away, but I couldn't find you. And Professor Longbottom told me off, if that makes it any better.'

She smiled coyly up at him, and popped a strand of dark hair in her mouth.

'It's ok James. I was just really embarrassed, that's all. Everyone was _laughing at me._ Usually no one even talks to me. I didn't know what to do.'

'Well next time, you can just hit me with one back.' James gave her his winningest smile and held his arms out for another awkward seat-hug. If it worked on Cat he guessed it might work on Holly, too.

Her cheeks flushed and she buried himself in his jersey for a moment. When she pulled away she was smiling ear to ear. Though it was hard to tell with all that hair in her mouth.

The pair passed a couple of hours amicably, studying for their respective courses. Holly found no end of laughs in James' inability to do more than make any of Egberta's feathers smoke vigorously when he tried to levitate them.

As evening became night-time Madam Creswell, the librarian, came around to chase out the last few bleary-eyed students from where they were all ensconced. Holly asked for one of James' last feathers, to try and levitate it for herself. He slid one over to her and she placed it atop the Transfiguration library book.

James watched with interest as she pulled out her wand, a gracile length of creamy wood.

'Ash and Unicorn hair, ten and a quarter inches, supple.' She said in an uncanny imitation of Mistress Lundstrom, one of the new Wandmakers in Diagon Alley.

James laughed to himself, he well remembered the witch, intimidating in her strictness, lining him up and having him try at least a dozen wands before his had finally chosen him.

Holly cleared her throat, smiled shyly, and with a swish and a flick she said: 'Wingardium Leviosa.'

'Huh,' was all James had to offer.

The feather still wasn't moving. He saw a frown crease Holly's brow, and she tried again, in a more firm tone.

This time, with an aching familiarity, James saw instant results.

The feather flipped up on one end, spun in the air for a brief moment, and then fell back down onto the book. He could see Holly's brow furrowing in consternation, and he was about to tell her not to try again, as he knew where this was heading, when the feather burst alight in a brief, albeit intense, moment of inferno.

The fallout was immediate and it was extreme.

'WHAT IN THE NAME OF MERLIN'S BEARD DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?'

James and Holly both jumped in shock, and the hawkish Madam Creswell descendent upon them, a very predatory look in her eye.

'BURNING BOOKS IN MY LIBRARY? I SWEAR I WILL HAVE THE TWO OF YOU IN DETENTION UNTIL YOU GRADUATE!'

She grabbed the pair of them be the collar of their robes and, with surprising strength for an elderly lady, threw them bodily out of the library.

'You will both report to me on Saturday at ten o'clock, where you will spend the _entire day_ dusting the shelves. If I see either of you two in my library before then, or anywhere near any of my precious books, I'll have the headmistress expel the both of you!' Her eyes were bulging, and a vein was pulsing in her forehead as she skewered them with one final glare before turning on her heel and slamming the door to the Library shut.

Holly was on the verge of hyperventilating next to James, babbling something about being expelled, and what her parents would say. She apologized repeatedly, before running off in tears, presumably back to the Slytherin common room.

James had hardly heard any of it; the sound of Madam Cresswell's voice was still ringing in his ears. Saturday, ten o'clock. Saturday, the exact time he was supposed to have been at Quidditch trials.

The rest of the week was a mess for James; Saturday was approaching both agonizingly slowly and frustratingly quickly at the same time. His friends had all tried to console him, Fred had even offered to not go to the trials either, in protest. James had thanked him, but said that at least one of them should be on the team.

Holly would practically burst into tears every time she came near James, she had been beside herself when she found out about the Quidditch trials. She had offered at least a thousand apologies by the time their double Defence class rolled around on Friday morning, and would have come close to doubling that number throughout the period, shooting a whispered 'I'm so sorry James,' across the room every minute or so.

To make matters worse, Cassie was still very pointedly ignoring James, pretending like he didn't exist. Word had gotten around about James and Holly apparently trying to burn the library down, and as tales were won't to do, it grew in the retelling, to the point where James was congratulated on Friday lunchtime by an older Slytherin student for managing to smuggle a dragon into the school.

James had spent the entire period of double Potions trying to catch Cassie's eye, but to no avail. His efforts weren't aided by Rain, who apparently was spending the lesson trying to catch _his_ eye. The fact that she was sitting next to Cassie, and so every time he looked over he ended up being slapped with a healthy whack of vertigo from Rain, meant that by the time the end of the lesson rolled around James was very cross. And a little dizzy.

So it was that on a Friday evening, when most of the other students were out socialising or studying, depending on their inclinations, a disgruntled James Potter was lying on the floor in the middle of the Gryffindor common room. Sometime earlier Cat had come down from the girls' dormitory and lay down with her head on James' stomach, using him for a pillow. She was now fast asleep, and the warmth of her body, coupled with the warmth from the last rays of sunlight drifting through the window were making James drowsy as well.

Fred came stumbling through the portrait hole, and dropped his bag with a _crash_ , startling James and Cat both into a sitting position. Fred watched idly as his bag bounced gently across the room, coming to a rest against the couch next to James.

'I just had a thought,' exclaimed Fred.

Uh oh.

'That's dangerous,' James replied sceptically.

'Ah, you say that, but get this.' Fred stooped to pick up his bag, which gave an excited little wiggle. 'That feather you blew up the library with-'

James rolled his eyes at this point.

'It wasn't you who tried to levitate it, it was Holly, right?'

'Yea,' said James. 'So…'

That was when the penny dropped. He had been so caught up wallowing in his own self-pity all week that he had forgot that _Holly had cast the spell on the feather._

Fred grinned at the dawning realisation written across James' face.

'Exactly, mate. I bet any money you like that that bloody chicken was transfigured from your original burnt feather, which you toasted when you got all aggressive with your Levio _saa_ not Levi _oh-_ sa business. I reckon Budd gave you that chicken without realising what he was doing. I mean, the guy looks like he would hardly realise if he showed up to a class wearing robes or not half the time.'

James was sitting upright, very alert all of a sudden. They needed to get down to the Professor to tell him, then he could explain to Madam Cresswell that it was a mistake and James would get to go to quidditch tomorrow!

'That's rather observant of you Fred,' Cat added from where she was sitting. 'Did you come up with all of that by yourself?'

Fred mumbled something indistinct.

'Oh alright, it was Cassie. She saw it straight away, she cornered me after Potions, told me that you were an idiot James, but you didn't deserve this one detention. I added the bit about Budd in his robes though, that was me.'

James felt a grin spread across his face.

'So she's not mad at me anymore?'

'Er… I wouldn't go _that_ far, she still used some pretty colourful words to describe you. I had to take some notes. And she said next time she wasn't going to bail you out either.'

James sighed, a little miffed, but leaped up nonetheless and ran to grab Egberta from her cage, a feeling of hope blossoming in his chest for the first time all week.


	5. Chapter 5

Saturday morning dawned bright and clear over Hogwarts. A light dew dusted the grass, and the sun hung low above the verdant canopy of the Forbidden Forest. The September air held the barest hint of a chill, fresh and crisp on the faces of two figures traipsing across the grounds, broomsticks slung over their respective shoulders.

James couldn't quite keep the smile off of his face on this particular morning; his trip to see Professor Budd the previous evening had gone exactly as planned, and he had been granted exemption from his detention with Madam Cresswell. The oppressive weight that he had been dragging around with him for the majority of the week had finally been cut free and as a result each step he took felt light and springy, threatening to launch him into the air with a whoop of excitement at any moment.

Pure happiness didn't have full reign over James' emotions this morning however; a nervous tension was also building as he approached the Quidditch pitch with Fred at his side. They had come down an hour before the first-year tryouts were scheduled in order to get in a bit of prior practice. Neither of them had had the opportunity to get in a decent practice over the past week, and the first-years' flying lesson had consisted more of trying to coax the stubborn old school brooms up off the ground than actually flying them.

As the pair crested a rise the pitch came into view for the first time, and a huge smile split James' face. The golden hoops stood tall against the dramatic backdrop of distant snow-capped peaks. House flags danced lazily in an early morning breeze atop the stadium grandstands. Tallest among them was the new D.L. Malfoy stand, generously donated to the school as part of the rebuild eighteen years ago. The majority of the Slytherin section was located within this stand, as well as a small section for faculty, and select parents of students. James had heard that the seats were all cushioned, and heated in the colder months, with retractable barriers against the wind, and even private booths. Spared no expense, had the Malfoys, as usual.

At the opposite side of the pitch, squatting in resolute defiance of its grandiose counterpart was the Fred Weasley I Memorial Stand. It was a frightful mish-mash of all the house colours, and had been built on a bit of a lean, such that it looked liable to topple over in a strong breeze.

The stand itself had been donated to the school by the Weasleys and Potters at the same time as the D.L. Malfoy stand, but where sleek black-and-green refinement reigned supreme at one end, the Weasley stand offered pure, unadulterated chaos for the daring would-be spectator. Seats were known to disappear out from under students as they watched mid-game, or transport them to other parts of the stadium. There had been reports of the seats turning their occupants invisible, or refusing to support anyone whom they did not like the look of. James had even heard of one account of a chair transfiguring itself into a dog and doing something very unseemly to the poor student's leg for the entire match.

The air above the pitch was dotted with a score of tiny figures whizzing and whipping about acrobatically. James saw a Quaffle being thrown about, and watched one of the tiny specks execute a perfect Dionysus Dive, slotting it through the central post, and past a forlorn-looking Keeper. His heart rate began to quicken again, there was no way he could manage a Dive like that, that was a really advanced Chaser's manoeuvre.

As they neared the pitch the figures took shape, and the majority appeared to be in the crimson-and-gold quidditch robes of the Gryffindor team. The Chaser who had performed the Dive was now practicing penalty shots at the hoops on the near end of the pitch. With _two_ keepers, and he was getting _every single one in._ The fact that he was throwing the Quaffle left-handed marked him as Ryan O'Flaherty, the sixth-year captain of the Gryffindor team, and the foremost member of the most efficient Chasing Trio that Hogwarts had seen in over a decade, the three-pronged scoring machine, nicknamed The Hydra.

Seeing the legends themselves in action was more than a little intimidating, and James steered towards the far end of the pitch, where there were fewer people on brooms, and far fewer glassy-eyed onlookers sighing longingly over the team members.

James felt a familiar rush of excitement as he mounted his trusty Comet 430. The shaft was well-worn and well-oiled, the twigs lovingly trimmed and straightened on a weekly basis. He knew every curve and knot in the wood of his broom, he knew how it handled in a crosswind, how late he had to pull out of a dive to avoid crashing into the ground, and the exact amount of acceleration he would need to surge through a gap in defenders and drive the Quaffle home.

It wasn't the fastest broom on the market, nor was it the most expensive, but it was perfect, and it was his.

Up in the air James felt free, like it was where he belonged. All of his worries he left behind him, chained to the ground. Flying was his opportunity to slip those chains and leave struggling classes, faltering friendships and impending detentions behind. This was flying, and this, finally, was his release.

The two boys tossed around a practice Quaffle for a few mintues, and went through a few warm-up drills. James got a feel for the conditions, noted the position of the sun and direction of the wind, he was certainly not above using the sun's glare to get a shot past the Keeper if it came to that.

Shortly, James saw O'Flaherty and the rest of the team head back towards the ground, and his stomach did a little lurch; it was time.

The two boys drifted towards the ground and made their way over to the congregation of Gryffindor hopefuls. An older raven-haired girl was sorting everyone into two groups: First-years, and the rest.

'All right everyone, settle down, and welcome to the Gryffindor Quidditch trials,' Ryan O'Flaherty looked over them all from where he stood atop a storage crate. There was a lot of nervous shifting amongst the crowd; James just leant on his broomstick and watched avidly.

O'Flaherty wasn't particularly tall, but he was very solid. Thick muscles bulged on his forearms, and his broad chest spoke of a similar build beneath his robes. He looked a little awkward on the ground, his gait a touch bow-legged, like he preferred a broom over even his own legs. His hair was a tangled mane of dirty blonde, and his eyes a deep, lambent gold.

He introduced the only two other returning members of the team, the other two Heads of the Hydra. Connor Flint, a seventh year, was cut from a similar mould as O'Flaherty; he was short, compact and well-muscled. He peered out across the group with narrow eyes, and gave only a grunt in recognition. Lilian Wood was the raven-haired girl who had been sorting out the first-years. She was tall and willowy, with a casual grace about her that bespoke her athleticism. She offered them a genuine smile and a small wave, as O'Flaherty continued.

'Today is going to be split into two sessions, we will try out the first-years first, and then on to the rest of the school for the open positions on the team. This year we are after two Beaters, a Keeper, and a Seeker for the starting team. Some of you I know from last years' reserve squads, but that doesn't guarantee you a spot this year. We will take only the best.'

A few disappointed mutters flitted through the group, evidently some had thought that last years' reserve squad was going to guarantee them a spot this year.

'The full team will be made up of eighteen individuals in total; a starter and a reserve for every position, and additionally, from the first-years we will take one student for each position.'

James' heart rate quickened at that, only one chaser? He eyed his competition surreptitiously as O'Flaherty continued talking. Quite a few of them looked like they knew their way around a broom. He hoped that they were trying out for a different position.

'People who make the reserve squad will have the opportunity to play any given week. The new Hogwarts Quidditch schedule means we play nine games each year, and there's a good chance we may lose some of you to injury. If you are on the practice squad and aren't just as committed as the starting players, you will be removed; there are plenty more people ready to take your place.

'First-years, as per school rules, will _not_ be eligible to play this year. You will be a part of the team in every other sense. You will, hopefully, be the future of this team, and so you will act accordingly. We are the only house that has the first-years train with the rest of the squad. You will learn fast and you will learn hard, and come second-year you will be better than most of the rest of the school. Now, anyone have any questions?'

No one did. James was still a bit stunned, he was a force of nature this Ryan O'Flaherty.

'Good, first-years go with Lilian, the rest of you grab a seat on the bench.'

Lilian gestured and led them over to the centre of the pitch where she sorted them by position. Fred with the beaters, James with the potential Chasers. He looked around at his competition, Gemma Powell and Eldon Prescott, two others that he recognised from his classes; he hadn't known that they were into quidditch. Hopefully it meant that they weren't very good. The third and final member of the would-be Chaser group made the bottom drop out of his stomach: Preston Lynch. Nephew of Aidan Lynch, the long-time seeker for the Irish national team. James had been hoping that he would try for the Seeker position like his uncle. It was rumoured that the kid had been born on a broom, he had flown before he had walked.

James groaned, he had a sinking feeling that his hopes of making the squad were falling faster than a dropped Quaffle.

Connor and Ryan made their way over from where they had been talking to the other students. They divvied the first-years up so that Lilian took the Chasers and Keepers, Connor took the Beaters, and Ryan took the three nervous, star-struck Seekers with him.

'Chasing, and by extension Keeping, are the two most important positions in the game,' Lilian barked, pacing back and forth in front of the nervous group. She idly twirled a single lock of hair as she went. 'The Gryffindor Chasing group has been the best in the school for the past three years now. It's no coincidence that we have won the Quidditch Cup two of those three years. We have scored more goals than any other house in each of those three years, and we have won four games by goal-scoring alone, despite the opposition catching the snitch.

'As such, you will be assessed to our standards, and only the best will be offered a position on the team.'

James saw Preston with a confident smile on his face. This was going to be a tough day.

At the head of the group Lilian powered on, unmindful of James' distress.

'Now the Hydra offense that the Gryffindor team employ works on a one-two basis. This means that of the Chasers, we have one Enabler, and two Finishers. An Enabler is the Chaser who directs the flow of play, their main job is to successfully get the Quaffle up field and put it in the hands of one of the Finishers, whose job it is to be in position to score the goals, as you may have guessed.

'Now this is a complex form of offense, and is used mostly in professional leagues. It may be a liitle hard to get your heads around at first-'

Preston scoffed, and Lilian shot him a dirty look before continuing.

'As I was saying, it is run in the professional leagues because it _works._ As evinced by our success in recent years. Now, at this stage you won't have to worry about playing an Enabler or a Finisher, we will sort that out as the year progresses, and your strengths develop. Right now, I just want you all to get up there and show me the best damn Chasing and Keeping that Hogwarts first-years have to offer!'

James felt like cheering at the end of that little speech. He looked around again, everyone was starting to fidget and look a little nervous now as Lilian began outlining their tryout routine. Everyone, except Preston Lynch. He caught James' eye and gave him a wink. There was something in the way that he was standing that was irritating James, like he had already written the rest of them off as talentless, and so beneath his lofty regard.

As they took to the air James tried to shake off both his nerves and his growing dislike for Preston Lynch. He needed to focus, he was going to have to fly better than he ever had before if he wanted to make the team.

Lilian started them off doing some basic gameplay manoeuvres; they tossed a Quaffle between themselves as they flew up and down the pitch, and then they flew between some conjured hoops as quickly as they could. The Keepers went through the same routines, as Lilian was of the view that aerial dexterity was equally important for the Keeper trying to save the shot as it was for the Chaser trying to make it.

Preston flew through the hoop course in forty-three seconds flat. As Lilian was distracted and James lined up to take off he scoffed, and called out to him. 'Good luck beating me on that old twig Potter.' His voice was dripping with derision, and James felt his blood boiling. He nearly missed Lilian calling for him to start the course.

James was in such a state when he did finally get started, that he swung wide on the first hoop and lost a lot of momentum. His speed plummeted as he willed his broom into the tight left-hand turn towards the second hoop. He was leaning almost flat on his broom now, trying to eke out every last bit of pace. As a result, he hit the second hoop too fast, and clipped it with his foot. It glowed orange briefly, and James swore loudly to himself.

The final hoop couldn't come quick enough for James, and as he crossed the line Lilian called out his time.

'James Potter, forty four point three seconds. Good recovery after that second hoop, you flew it flawlessly from there.'

The compliment took a little of the edge off of his disappointing performance, but it only took one glance over at a smug Preston Lynch, leaning on his broom and chatting to Gemma, to set James off again.

The trial continued on a similar course. Preston and James gained separation as the two clear front-runners for the single Chaser position. Preston had the far superior broom, and it was beginning to show. He was the fastest in a lap around the quidditch pitch, the fastest in a flat hundred yard sprint race, and won at what James thought was a frankly stupid exercise where they had to chase after enchanted muggle tennis balls that Lilian shot from her wand.

By the time the final test came around, James was feeling both very frustrated and very dejected. It didn't help that after most of the activities Preston would brush himself off pompously and say something like: 'Well when you have a sporting pedigree such as mine, it really is hard to argue against it being in the blood, you know.'

James silently fumed. It was in _his_ blood too, his Mother had played for the Holyhead Harpies, his Father had been a great Gryffindor Seeker, and his Father before him. He would show Lynch about _in the blood._

The final part of their tryout was a showdown between the Keepers and the Chasers. Each Chaser would throw five penalty shots at each of the two Keepers, trying to score as many goals as possible.

'This is the big one,' Lilian called with a smile. 'It's no good being fast if you can't shoot, if you don't have the arm for it.'

She hovered lazily on her broom above the hoops, a mother bird watching over her hatchlings.

Preston pushed his way to the front of the queue to have his turn first. James watched in growing frustration as he scored all five of his goals against the first of the two Keepers. The second, a stocky lad by the name of Anthony Harkness drifted up to the goal posts and glared at Preston.

His very first shot was saved by an excellent Starfish and Stick manoeuvre by Anthony. James cheered silently to himself. The second, third and fourth shots all went in. On the fifth shot, James watched in shock as Preston tossed the Quaffle high in the air above him, and leapt up to stand acrobatically atop his broomstick. He was going to try a Dionysus Dive, like they had all seen Ryan O'Flaherty make before the tryout.

James looked on, every fibre willing him to miss, to mess up the jump and crash back onto his broomstick, to send the shot high, anything at all.

Preston sprung high off his broom, seemingly hanging in the air for an eternity, and at the apex of his leap he smashed the Quaffle with his fist, sending it spinning hard towards the lower left hoop.

Anthony had clearly not been ready to defend such a shot, and as he zoomed towards the open hoop James was sure he wasn't going to make it.

Then, with speed to rival anything James had seen from the older players today, Anthony spun in a perfect Sloth Grip Roll, but with one had outstretched, tipping the Quaffle as it sped towards the goal.

James held his breath, the Quaffle was wobbling off-course now, and Anthony was clinging upside-down to his broom, trying to see if his gambit had paid off. With a low _thud_ that was the sweetest sound James had heard all day, the Quaffle hit the outer ring of the goal hoop and tumble lifelessly to the ground.

'A little too flashy Lynch,' Lilian said from where she was perched. 'No point in taking that shot. Next up!'

Lynch was fuming as he flew to the back of the queue. He brushed past James, knocking him hard on his throwing arm as he passed. James looked up at Lilian in outrage, but she was too busy watching Gemma trying to get the Quaffle past Anthony.

James was the last one to have his turn. Gemma and Eldon had both only made five of the ten shots, and both seemed resigned to the fact that they would be missing out this year.

He flew up to hover above the spot marked for taking free throws. Lilian tossed him the Quaffle, he nearly fumbled it in his sweaty hands.

'Hey, think fast Potter,' she called.

James swallowed hard, looked up towards the posts. Bianca Pettit was the first Keeper on trial. Anthony hovered away to the left, next to Lilian.

He saw Bianca favouring her right side, which was her strong arm. She tended to drift that way, and preferred to cover her right-hand hoop. James eyed it up openly, sending her creeping further in that direction. He leaned back on his broom and put all his effort into a Norwegian No-Look shot towards her left-hand hoop. She dived to her right, taking his bait, and the Quaffle sailed through the centre of the unguarded left-hand goal.

That success gave James the confidence he had needed, and he slotted the next three through with ease. The fifth one he sent too high, and Bianca was able to deflect it above the centre hoop. He cursed under his breath, from somewhere behind him he heard a condescending laugh. He knew from whom it would have come.

Anthony made James work harder for his goals, he was equally good on both sides, and had already shown an impressive arsenal of broomstick manoeuvres. James tried the No-Look shot again, but he fooled nobody, and Anthony made an easy save.

His heart rate quickened again, he needed to make all of the rest of his shots to equal Preston's total. If he couldn't do that, then surely there was no way he would make the team.

The next shot James tried a trick his Mum had taught him, and went for a double-movement on the throw. He sent Anthony towards the left hoop with the fake, and then scored on the right one. He breathed a sigh of relief.

The next two went through as well, Anthony was starting to look a little frustrated, James was definitely getting very nervous, and Lilian was looking on with keen interest. James lined up the shot, Anthony was drifting back and forth across the hoops, his lateral coverage was excellent, but James noted that he would be open to a low shot. He lined it up when Anthony was in front of the left hoop, and threw with all his strength to the right.

He had thrown the Quaffle with as much topspin as he was able, and he watched Anthony dart across- _too high, please be too high._ Preston let out a loud guffaw behind him, it looked for all the world as though Anthony was about to make an easy save. He had his hands outstretched to grab it, he was less than a foot away –

And then it _dropped_. The topspin the James had put on the throw caused the Quaffle to drop much quicker than it should have done, and he watched with delight as it grazed past Anthony's fingertips and scraped the hoop on its way through.

'All right, way to go James!' Lilian called from above. 'Beautiful topspin throw, that's a hard one to make.'

Preston was glaring daggers at James the whole time.

'That's it for today guys, I think I have all that I need. Go get showered and cleaned up, then you can head back to the castle, or stay and watch the older kids try out if you want.'

James thanked her and drifted back to where he saw Freddy waiting on the ground. He was elated at her praise, and the fact that he had also made eight out of the ten shots, but was it going to be enough? Preston had probably beaten him at more of the other trials, and he had a much faster broom than James. Despite Lilian insisting that James had made the shot of the day, he had a nagging feeling that it wasn't quite going to be enough.

Fred was buzzing when James touched down, he had apparently been by far and away the best Beater, according to himself anyway, and was already considering himself as part of the team. James filled him in about his trial, and the nightmare that was Preston Lynch.

'Tough luck on that one, mate. I thought for sure he would go for Seeker.'

As if being summoned by the very mention of his name, Preston Lynch stepped in front of the pair, barring their way out of the change rooms.

'There's no way you make this team Potter. That spot is mine. This team will be mine in a few years' time. I'll be captain, and you'll be lucky if you're on the bench.'

'Back off, Lynch,' Fred growled. 'James is twice the flyer you would ever be.'

Lynch smiled darkly. 'You better hope you don't make the team Potter, else you might find you end up with a nasty injury, and won't be able to make practices at all.'

James eyed widened, was he _threatening_ him?

Fred fired up instantly, and shoved Lynch out the way hard. James threw him a dirty look as they passed, but Lynch was just smiling that evil smile.

'See you around, Potter.'

James and Fred stayed for a while to watch the rest of the team try out, but his heart wasn't quite in it. He was too busy worrying about Lynch's threats, and if he would even make the team in the first place. He eventually trudged back up to the Castle around lunch time, in order to make a start on what was already an alarming pile of homework.

Later that night James was sitting in an armchair next to the fireplace with Clip and Cat. All three of them were squished into the one seat and reading a text on Transfiguration. It was getting late, James had been staring at the same sentence for the last ten minutes, Clip was gazing absently into the fireplace, and Cat was nodding off on his shoulder every minute or so.

He heard someone come and go behind him, and after their footsteps had faded back up to the dormitory he decided it might be time for bed. He poked Clip in the ribs, and gently lifted Cat's head off his shoulder. The three grainy-eyed first-years made their way up towards their beds.

As James passed the noticeboard he saw a new piece of parchment stuck on with Spellotape over top of several others. His breath caught in his chest, and his heart started racing as he read the writing scrawled across the top:

 _Gryffindor Quidditch Team Full List and Reserve Squad_

He swallowed hard, and told Clip to run and get Fred.

The results were up.


	6. Chapter 6

James stood amongst the small crowd milling at the base of the Grand Staircase, outside the Great Hall on Sunday morning. His eyelids were heavy, his eyes bloodshot and stinging, and his head felt like it was packed full of cloth. He was exhausted.

But he was ecstatic.

He had found both his and Fred's names on the list to make the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and so they had stayed up well into the small hours of the morning chattering away excitedly about it. James hadn't known how much he had really been banking on getting into the Quidditch team until it had finally happened. It was like the foreshadowing of his entire year, the blueprint from which it would be built: If he made the team then everything was going to be ok, but if he hadn't he felt like he would never be able to make up with Cassie, or go a week of class without getting a detention, or setting a library on fire.

He had finally felt like the year was heading in the direction that it was supposed to.

That was until Preston Lynch had come down on his way to breakfast and seen that his name was _not_ on the list. He had confronted James and Fred where they were sitting on the couches, and some pushing and shoving ensued. Drawn by the noise, Lilian Wood had looked down over the balustrade from the sixth-year girls' dormitory to see Lynch with his wand out, clearly threatening James and Fred. She had leaped from the balcony and drawn her wand mid-flight. With a casual flick she sent Lynch flying, to crash into one of the armchairs in a red-faced, spluttering heap.

'If I _ever_ catch you threatening one of _my_ players again, Lynch. I'll make sure you never play Quidditch at Hogwarts again.'

She was singularly terrifying when she was angry, James thought. She turned towards them and Fred flinched, but she now had a smile on her face again, and she was positively glowing.

'Well done on making the team boys; Fred, Connor said you were absolutely excellent, and James, if you fly like that every week you'll be putting me out of a job in no time!' She gave the boys a playful wink and then, much to their embarrassment she had then leaped over pulled them into a friendly headlock, tousling their hair.

It had been the best kind of day so far.

James was brought back to the present by an excited squeal as Dominique appeared at the top of the stairway. The rest of the first years in the group backed away from James and Fred quickly, as she descended first on James, and wrapped him up in an enveloping hug.

James' face flushed red, but he was able to mostly stifle his indignation right up to the point where he realised that the large soft thing into which his face was pressed was his cousin's left breast.

He jumped back with a strangled yell, which elicited a chorus of giggles from the gathering first-years. This became full-blown laughter when Dom snatched him back up and planted one of her signature big, wet kisses on his lips.

James was horrified, and he slowly edged away toward the relative safety of his friends.

Dom was looking a little put-out. 'I have to get in before all these other girls take you away from me!' she cried.

This brought about a lot of red faces, James included. In a desperate attempt to divert attention he waved a little over-enthusiastically at his cousin, who was trying to sidle off into the anonymity of the crowd.

'Whatcha doing Freddy?' he called, perhaps a touch hysterical.

To James' immense relief and delight, Dom spun with another squeal of joy and pounced on Fred. James caught the flash of a withering glare before she wrapped him up.

Evidently Fred had less of a fighting spirit than James, as Dom managed to get off an even half-dozen kisses before Fred wriggled free. James was a little relieved to see him make it out; a boy could suffocate in there.

Dom seemed to enjoy causing them humiliation a little too much.

Laughter settled down and was replaced by an excited energy as Professor Longbottom made his way up the steps into the Entrance Hall from outside. A few whispers flitted about amongst the gathered students. These were the ones who had come to find out about the mysterious eighth floor, some even with the wild hope that the Professor might take them up there.

Fred was rocking back and forth on his heels in excitement, a wide grin painted across his face. James thought it made him look a little bit insane, he hated to think what mischief Freddy would be able to plan in a castle where the corridors changed with every step.

'All right first-years, gather 'round. Before Dom introduces F.A.R.T to you all, I thought I might tell you a bit about the eighth floor, I will try to dispel a few of the rumours as well as show you why you aren't allowed up there without a teacher escort.

'No Mister Dempsey it is _not_ because we are breeding a Lethifold colony up there.'

A fed-faced Hufflepuff boy lowered his hand slowly back to his side.

Professor Longbottom strode past the students and took a seat on one of the steps of the Grand Staircase. He gestured for the students to do the same. There was a bit of a scuffle between Emry and Cassie as to who would get to sit closest to the Professor.

'As I'm sure you were told by your respective house prefects on the first night in the castle, the eighth floor began as a part of the Hogwarts School Rebuild, following the last Wizarding War. Similarly to the new Quidditch stands, we received a generous donation, although this time it was anonymous, to add a new wing to the school above the seventh floor.

'Our anonymous financier apparently foresaw the very phenomenon that we are experiencing today, where we have a greatly inflated number of students coming through out halls, and he knew that we would need somewhere to teach them all.

'So we gathered the Hundred, a contingent of the best and bravest Witches and Wizards from across Britain, and we set to work. Now keep in mind that simply adding to the Hogwarts Castle is very much easier said than done. It is ritual magics, rather than solely mundane brick and mortar, that keep this castle upright, that keep it _alive._ To successfully include our new floors in the rebuild, we would have to pick apart the rituals of the Founding Four, and mesh them seamlessly with our own. A task not undertaken lightly, thus the Hundred were called.'

By this stage every single one of the students was leaning in towards the Professor. This wasn't the stuff that they put in Hogwarts: A History, this certainly wasn't lore that just anyone would have access to. James wondered if a bunch of first-years were really even _worthy_ of knowing this stuff. Cassie was leaning in with her mouth half-open, as if to take in even more of what the Professor was saying.

'Now Hogwarts Castle as we know it is nothing more than the greatest manifestation of ritual magic that modern Britain has ever seen. The Founders each gave up a piece of themselves in order to make it happen, so strong was their desire to teach and guide the magical youth, so bright did the fire of their passion for knowledge burn.

'As you will no doubt learn in later years, any manifestation of ritual magic in the physical world must be anchored at a central node, a core if you will, in order for it to exist. This core is the item that Voldemort damaged the night he tried to take the castle; it is the key to keeping the walls of the castle upright, the wards alive, and the students within them safe. It is the Heart of Hogwarts.'

Cassie let out a little moan from where she sat. James rolled his eyes, she was a _strange_ girl.

'The Heart was a well-kept secret while Voldemort was coming to power, as Dumbledore knew that he would covet it, or seek to desecrate it in a way only Voldemort knew how. When we gathered the Hundred, naturally the secret was out. There is a wealth of speculative literature out about it today, but it is just that: Speculative. The Hundred were oath-bound to not reveal any of its secrets, and so where exactly it is hidden remains with us, and only us.

'In order to re-make the castle we first had to re-make the Heart. We located it, and spent weeks mapping the pulse of magic within it. It's Heartbeat, if you will. We needed to know the way the magic fluxed between the Runes, the Arithmantic sequences that were cast into the Heart at its conception, and we needed to know every single complex spell that had been layered onto it in order to erect the Castle over a millennium ago.

'Once we had mapped the Heart, and we knew it inside and out, under the light of a full moon we set to work unpicking it. Over a month, it took us, and not all of the Hundred made it through alive, for such a powerful magical artefact carries with it an inherent danger. A wrong thread plucked here, an incorrect Rune scrubbed out there, several times we nearly lost the entire Castle to its volatility.

'When the dust finally settled, Hogwarts stood as majestic as she ever had, but every single one of us knew something was not right. The Heartbeat had changed, it no longer pulsed in time with the Castle as it once had, and when we examined our handiwork we were dismayed. A single error in the Runic Sequencing, one Rune carved backwards, which was enough to disrupt the Arithmantic Pentagram which it was anchoring, and the entire area that we had built was flawed.'

Neville's voice faltered a bit here, and he got a faraway look in his eye. 'We couldn't… Couldn't face doing it again; we had already lost too many, and the drain on our magic was too much. We had to open the School as it was; broken, incomplete.

'Because we were not worthy.'

The group of first-years sat in stunned silence. Professor Longbottom was looking down at the floor, but James saw his eyes glistening.

Dom stepped up and put a hand on the Professor's shoulder. A shaft of sunlight illuminated her from behind, as she stood looking out over the gathered first-years. Her coppery hair was lit as if aflame, her stance was defiant as she began to speak.

'But it has been a gift to us in so many ways,' she said firmly. 'I know many an older student who owes their relationship to the privacy of that eighth floor. We still have all the beautiful new classrooms that we can use, with the teachers there to guide us through the corridors, and if I had a Galleon for every time a young student ran up to touch that eighth floor doorknob, only to scamper away squealing in delight, I would be a wealthy witch indeed.

'The eighth floor is part of Hogwarts now, it _is_ Hogwarts. This is a castle of _magic_ , a place where every single day brings a new set of adventures, a new world of excitement, and if that's not exactly what the eighth floor is, then I'll eat my wand.'

Neville looked up at her, a smile back on his face. James felt a rush of gratitude towards Dom for her speech, he might have even let her hug him again right then and there.

The Professor squeezed Dom's hand briefly and continued on.

'Perhaps the most far-reaching and innovative use for the eighth floor has been the new Auror Training Programs designed specifically for it. The Auror recruits come here during the school holidays and use the eighth floor as a mock-battleground, staging miniature wars throughout the corridors. The recruits are split up into small teams and each given objectives to fulfil. As is the nature of the eighth floor, they all rapidly devolve into chaos, and those who are able to improvise the best quickly rise to the top.

'It is an excellent way to teach them to adapt, and to change tactics mid-battle, as their environment is constantly changing around them. They never know if an attacker or an ally is coming around the corner, so it sharpens their wits and their reflexes.

'It has been a highly successful method of training our young would-be Aurors for the past decade, and Miss Dominique has brilliantly adapted this Auror Readiness Training to something that will benefit you first-years in getting your bearings around a castle as large as Hogwarts, and perhaps having a little fun along the way, too.'

Dom was beaming at the praise as she stepped up.

'Welcome again everybody, to the inaugural First-year Acclimatisation Readiness Training, or F.A.R.T for short! Just like the Aurors on the eighth floor we will be running about the castle, trying to get our bearings and complete our mission. Instead of battling, however, we will be going on a Hunt!

'Everyone will be split up into teams of four, one student from each house. Each team will then be given a sheet of parchment, with a list of ten clues on it. These clues will lead you to locations throughout the castle. It will be your mission to solve all the clues, get to the locations and then back here to the Great Hall as fast as possible!

'The first team back will earn themselves a small advantage for the next F.A.R.T meeting, and on top of this they will be awarded house points, as well as F.A.R.T points, which will be used to track each teams' progress throughout the year via a leader board which will be displayed in the Great Hall. The team with the most F.A.R.T points at the end of the year win will our mystery grand prize!

'There will be four F.A.R.T meetings throughout the school year, and each one will be a little different, we will change the rules each time. But you won't find out what the changes are until the day of the meetings.

'For today's meeting the rules are as follows: You will be looking for a small, golden statue in each of the locations you are sent to. The statue will be of a wizard holding a map, and will have the letters F.A.R.T engraved into the base; you must touch the statue with any of your team member's wands and say "Find Me". This will notify us via a magical map that you have successfully found each location; secondly each team must stay as a group of four at all times, there is to be no splitting up from the group to travel ground faster. Our magical map will tell us if you have done that; lastly, there is to be no spells cast on any member of another team, under any circumstances.

'Now, if there are no further questions, then I have the team list in my hand here. Split up into your respective teams, and then line up in front of Professor Longbottom, where you will have to touch your wand to his map, to allow us to track you for the duration of the hunt.'

A period of barely organised chaos ensued, whereby each student was desperately trying to find his or her three other counterparts. Eventually something vaguely resembling a queue formed up in front of Professor Longbottom.

James was in a team with Holly, who looked delighted, Cassie, who most certainly did not, and a blonde Hufflepuff boy named Tristan MacMillan who looked indifferent about the whole situation. He spoke with a very posh accent, but seemed friendly enough. He mentioned that his father had attended Hogwarts in the same year as James' own.

James' team was second-to-last in the queue, and by the time they arrived to touch their wands to Professor Longbottom's map, a thought had occurred to him.

'Professor Longbottom, how does that map work?' James asked, when they reached the front. 'How does it know to follow us, or if we split up, and when we find the little statues?'

The more James thought about it, the more curious he was about this special "map". He thought he knew where he might find another one with very similar properties.

'I thought you might be interested in this,' the Professor said with a smile. 'All the students of the school, as well as the teachers, and anyone who walks in the front gate, are noted and marked by the Hogwarts Warding System. This is a rudimentary means of alerting us to the presence of any Dark Witches or Wizards trying to sneak onto the grounds. The School's wards know exactly where every person inside the castle is at any given time. They key to using that information? That would be the Heart.'

James' mind was going into overdrive. Was this what his grandfather and friends had discovered? Had they truly found the Heart of Hogwarts almost fifty years ago, and kept the secret with them to the grave? If James could find the Heart then maybe he would be able to resurrect the map himself. He thought of the joy that would bring his father. He thought of the joy it would bring _himself._ He tried very hard not to think of the joy it would bring Freddy.

'So you can find the Heart?' James blurted out, perhaps a little too loudly. Several other students began casting surreptitious glances their way. Clip and Rain in the team behind them were staring outright.

'Any of the Hundred can navigate the eighth floor with much more ease than anybody else. We are attuned to the Heart; each of us sacrificed a little of our own magic to pour into it that day, so yes, we do know how to locate it in an emergency.'

James' mouth worked soundlessly for a few moments. Could he ask the Professor to take him to the Heart to resurrect the Map? Did the Professor even know about the existence of the map? Surely a Professor wouldn't let a student have such an artefact. In the wrong hands it could produce a flood of mischief. In Fred's hands it might just bring about the Apocalypse.

James eventually closed his mouth and moved on, deciding that this was a matter that needed a lot more thought before he went blabbing to everybody about the Map.

And besides, right now he had a Hunt to win.

The students had finished marking themselves on the Map, and Dominique was busy handing out sealed scrolls of parchment with the directions on them. Holly had disappeared somewhere, and James stood up on tip toes trying to locate her. Now wouldn't that just be a fantastic start to the competition.

Dom handed the scroll to James. Tristan leaned in anxiously, Cassie was trying very hard to ignore James, but her natural curiosity was slowly winning out, and she ended up glaring at James while also poring over the unopened scroll.

Holly was still nowhere to be seen. James was starting to panic, if the Hunt started and they weren't all together as a team would they get automatically disqualified? He craned his neck around trying to locate her. Dom was climbing the staircase to get a good view over all of the teams. Sixty-odd first years were all staring up at her, their tension pervading the cool morning air. Dom held her wand high above her head.

'On my mark. Three… Two… One.' A cannon blast, followed by a shower of red sparks spewed forth from her wand, and all around James the sound of rustling parchment indicated that the Hunt had begun.


	7. Chapter 7

James continued to try to peer over the heads of his classmates as Cassie and Tristan frantically worked over the clues in hushed whispers. He thought of trying to catch Dom's eye, but to tell her what, he didn't know. They were already breaking the rules after all.

His heart rate was rising, where _was she._ He turned to his teammates, 'I'm going to go try find Holly,' he told them urgently. Cassie didn't even look up from the roll of parchment, but he saw her gaze harden, and her knuckles whitened on the quill she held.

Tristan looked a little unsure about the whole situation, and not at all keen to be one of only two in their group. Before he could open his mouth to protest, James hastily spun away–

And was nearly knocked flat on his backside by a streaking ball of black hair and burning excitement.

It was Holly.

Her small frame fared worse than James' and she fell onto the ground with an _oof._ James offered her a hand and hastily pulled her to her feet.

'Where have you been,' he hissed.

Her cheeks – already flushed – became even more coloured. Her breathing was coming in short gasps, like she'd already run through the whole castle and back again

'I was just… hanging about… near some of the other teams,' she panted, 'I heard them talking about their clues, trying to pick up a hint or two. I'm good at not being noticed by people so…' Her voice trailed off and she looked very shy again all of a sudden. James saw her visibly wither under Cassie's glare.

'That's excellent!' he blurted out, before Cassie got a chance to admonish her. 'Did you find out anything? Where is everyone going?'

By now several of the teams were darting off up the stairs, a few were headed down towards the potions dungeons, and some were even heading outside. Cassie was still muttering a steady stream of words under her breath and scratching at the parchment with her quill.

'All the teams have different clues,' Holly continued. 'Some teams had the astronomy tower as their first location, others had the greenhouses, so I think each team has a different set completely.'

That made sense to James, he supposed, otherwise it would just devolve into a massive melee at each location on their Hunt.

'Anything else? Show her the list Cassie, she might know some of the answers.' Cassie did _not_ like being told what to do, and shot James with a glare before passing over the sheet of parchment.

Holly's brow furrowed as she read through it, her lips moving ever so slightly.

'These are all different to any of the ones that I heard,' she said, finally defeated. 'I couldn't guess any of the ones you already had Cassandra. Guys another thing, Clip was _really good_ at it. He was on a team with that Rain girl, and they knew, like, _every single location_ straight away. They snuck out before anyone even noticed.'

James' eyes widened. Clip may not be much of a natural hand at magic, but apparently riddles were his thing. That was concerning. Coupled with the fact that over half the teams had left the Entrance Hall already, his panic began rising anew.

'We need to get going,' he said, looking around as if searching for a sign that said "Location one: This way".

' _Well how about you help me out instead of standing there waving your arms around like a bloody Whomping Willow with a flock of birds in its hair!'_ Cassie was becoming a little scary. James jumped and leaned in, poring over the list. He couldn't help shooting glances out the corner of his eye every so often; there must have only been a quarter of the teams left in the Hall now. He was beginning to fidget, dancing from foot to foot.

The scroll of parchment was now nigh unrecognisable from the neat, ordered thing it had been when Dom handed it out. Cassie had scrawled all over it, crossed out several lines of text, and wrote answers next to all but three of the locations. As James scanned the list his eyes widened: Hospital Wing, Sixth Year Potions Class, Clock Tower, The Armoury, the list went on. They had a _lot_ of ground to cover.

And now they were nearly the last team left in the Entrance Hall.

The three remaining locations that Cassie had been unable to decipher from the clues were angrily circled on the page:

 _4\. I am oft used, yet underappreciated. I am infested with worms of a different kind_

 _6\. I am the home of great triumph; a place of past glories_

 _9\. I am the first step of any Hogwarts adventure; all paths of the sea lead to me_

James scanned the lines of text once, twice. Nothing was jumping out at him. He couldn't think when he was too busy looking over his shoulder every other second at the dwindling number of teams still remaining in the Entrance Hall. He did the only thing he could think of; he snatched the parchment and dashed up the stairs. He needed to _act_.

Cassie let out a scream of frustration behind him.

'James Potter _what do you think you are doing!'_

He ignored her, turning only when he was at the top of the first flight of stairs.

'We need to do _something_ ,' he called back to her. 'We can figure out the last three on the run, but for now we need to move or everyone else will have finished by the time we even start. I bet Clip is already halfway through by now!'

She gave a wordless howl, but Holly had grabbed her elbow and Tristan was already halfway up the stairs. Finally, they were moving.

They dashed up the stairs two at a time, and along the first-floor corridor. Cassie quickly caught up and snatched the list back from James.

'Hospital Wing,' she gasped, 'that's the only one on the first floor. Come on!'

The group sprinted down the corridor, and made a left turn at a portrait of a witch riding a camel backwards. Tristan was clearly in the best shape, and made it to the great oaken doors first. He shoved them open as they all arrived, and a puffing, panting tangle of wobbly limbs stumbled in through the doors, shattering the peaceful environs within.

'Out! _Out!'_ came a cry from a small office towards the rear of the room. A matronly lady was shuffling out, her arms laden with bandages. She jerked her head towards the still-open door. 'I will _not_ have my sanctuary of healing disturbed by rampant first years, running in and out like you own the place. The third group already this morning! There are people trying to _rest!_ Now out, all of you, before I get the Headmistress!'

James was backing away slowly as she advanced on the group. Some of those bandages looked pretty sturdy, and the Healer had a look in her eye that she just might like to strangle them with one. Cassie, apparently, was by far the boldest in the face of adversity, as she stepped up with a gracious smile and an expertly performed little curtsey.

'We're terribly sorry to bother you, Madam Petheridge, but we were just wondering if we could trouble you for the use of that small figurine over on yon windowsill.'

James flicked his gaze over to where Cassie had gestured, maybe, if she could distract Madam Petheridge for long enough, he could sneak over and grab it, and activate the spell. He took a step in that direction–

'Out I said! All of you! I've a mind to lock the door, this ridiculousness has gone too ruddy far; if I could pick that damned statue up I'd toss it out the window and be done with it! Now go, shoo!'

They had no choice but to sidle out of the room, dejected, to mill about in the hallway outside.

Cassie was glaring thunderheads, Holly had creases in her forehead, deep in thought.

'If only one of us were genuinely ill,' offered Tristan, 'she would surely see to us then.'

With a delighted gasp Cassie whipped out her wand. James didn't even have time to get a bad feeling about this before she pointed it straight at his face and cried, 'Dolafuerta!'

The pain was instant and intense. He clapped his hands to his face, writhing about. He felt his skin pulling tight, and when he took his hands away he could see only the barest slit through puffy eyes. The skin of his face was on fire, he tried to cry out, but his throat was tight. He felt strong hands grab him by the shoulders and shove him. He vaguely noticed stumbling in through the open Hospital Wing doors, before Madam Petheridge turned to round on him again.

'What did I – Oh deary me, whatever happened to you, little one?' It was like someone had flicked a switch on her, and she instantly went into protective overdrive. She gently guided James to sit down on a nearby bed. He was still having trouble seeing, if the others thought that he was supposed to be grabbing the statue then they were going to have another think coming.

'Just sit here for a second darling, I know it hurts, I'll be back in a second, I have just the potion for that. Stinging Jinx was it?' James nodded, though in truth he had no idea what Cassie had hit him with, but he was about to have some _very_ stern words.

Rustling skirts retreating, followed by the opening and closing of the back-room door told James he was alone again.

The sound of tentative footsteps and frantic whispers reached James' ears, and he turned to try and find the source. He saw a figure with long, dark hair sneak in through the front door. Holly. He waved her frantically in the direction that he thought the statue had been, lest Madam Petheridge emerge from her office and possibly crucify them both.

Holly was tiptoeing across the floor near James, making her way slowly to the window. He made to gesture, to hurry up and just _run_ , but as he waved his arm it connected with something on the table beside his bed, and it tumbled to the floor with a loud, resonating _crash!_

He heard movement from the end of the room, coming from Petheridge's office. Holly let out a squeal and finally began running towards the window. James heard her gasp 'Find me!' and let out his own sigh of relief. He may be about to get killed by the Healer, but at least he would go down in the line of duty.

The door to the back room swung open, as Holly grabbed James unceremoniously by the collar and yanked him off the bed. He stumbled, tripping over the ends of his robes and nearly bringing them both down in the process.

For a girl so slight Holly had a good amount of strength behind her, and she half-carried, half-dragged James out towards the awaiting doors.

'WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY PATIENT?!' came the roar from the back of the room. James spun, his heart in his mouth, and saw through his narrow field of vision, the terrifying sight of Madam Petheridge in full charge, bearing down on the two of them.

Tristan was holding the door open for them, and when he saw the Healer start running towards them, brandishing a vial of potion in one hand and looking for all the world like she was about to hurl a jar of poultice at them with the other, his face took on an unhealthy greyish hue. He leaned in and grabbed James, helping Holly to support him, and they crashed out the door, letting it slam shut behind them.

'Run!' James managed in a strangled yell. The group didn't need telling twice, and they took off at a limping, halting pace, trying to support James, who still could see very little. They rounded a corner as they heard the Hospital Wing doors fly open. They weren't going to be able to get away with James like this, they needed time for Cassie to cast the counter-jinx. Time that they didn't have. They were all scanning the hall desperately for an escape. The sound of running footsteps and inarticulate screaming steadily growing nearer.

'Psst! Hey Potter, Brooks, in here!'

James could barely make out the outline of a figure holding a portrait ajar, before the frantic children bundled him in behind it, so desperate were they to escape the Healer's ire.

Once inside, the figure jabbed his wand lazily at James' face, and the pain instantly receded. He touched his cheeks tenderly, only to feel them normal size and free of the biting pain. His vision had returned to normal, and he took a deep breath through his nose to celebrate.

Curiosity about their rescuer overrode anger at Cassie, as James studied the figure before them. He was leaning casually back against the wall, studying James in turn. He had his hood pulled right up despite the warm morning, and a scarf wrapped around his face. Green-trimmed robes marked him as a Slytherin. James shot a look at Holly, but she just shrugged, obviously as clueless as the rest of them as to who this mysterious stranger could be.

'You'll be safe in here,' he assured them in a gruff voice. 'Not many people know about this passage, and none of them are teachers.'

James' eyebrows rose at that, a secret passage that not a single teacher knew about? Fred would think it was Christmas. What had been on the portrait they had entered? He cursed himself for not trying to catch a look.

'Now gimme a look at that list,' the stranger held his hand out. Cassie looked a little reluctant to hand it over, but he still held onto his wand in his other hand, and there was little that four first-years would have been able to do to stop him, regardless.

The stranger scanned the list quickly, his eyes, the only part of his face that James could see, dancing back and forth across the page.

'Number four here is the library. By worms it means bookworms, six would be the trophy room, on the third floor, and nine is the boathouse. Obviously.'

James stared at him, agape. Was that even _legal?_

'Now hold on just a second,' ventured Cassie. 'That's _cheating_. You just told us all the answers. We can't go to those places now, that's just unfair!'

'You can, and you will,' growled the stranger. 'Where in the rules did Weasley or Longbottom say you weren't allowed to solicit outside help? I didn't hear it either. And if it matters to you so much, then know this: You lot aren't the only group that has received a little push in the right direction today. Let's just say that there are a lot of older kids with a keen financial interest in how this little treasure hunt plays out.'

'You're _betting_ on us?' Tristan cried, outraged. 'But is that not the most corrupt thing ever, what if Dominique was betting on a team, what if an older kid simply attacked one of the teams that they were betting against? How can the teachers–'

'The teachers have no idea,' the stranger cut in. 'And if you know what's good for you, you'll keep it that way, too. Brooks, meet me in the common room tonight by the entrance to the Private Library, and I'll introduce you to your little Board of Investors, if you will.'

Holly nodded, though she looked like she would rather take a swim with the giant squid than meet this mysterious stranger's no-doubt creepy friends.

There was silence in their little alcove for a time, while the stranger scribbled frantically on the piece of parchment. Eventually he looked up and handed it to Holly.

'This is a map of the route you need to take, and the order that you need to hit those locations in. Do everything inside first, from here take this passage-' he gestured to a vague squiggle on his crude map, 'up to the third floor. The armoury and the trophy room are there. Then head out the back door of the trophy room, knock three times on the portrait of the skinny wizard painting a lion that keeps trying to eat him, and that passage will take you into a back entrance of the library. From there, in study booth seventeen, pull on the book titled "Magic or Mundane, the Art of the Tarot Reader", that will open up a passage to the seventh floor. From there touch the third window to your left with a wand and say "Time Flies" which will let you duck across to the clock tower over a small bridge, rather than run all the way down then back up again.'

As he detailed the rest of their route for them, James was becoming in danger of his eyes popping right out of their sockets, so wide were they growing. This man seemed to know every single twist and turn of the castle, every single secret passage, and hidden portrait room. If he had his father's map maybe he would be able to do the same, but the familiarity with which the stranger spoke of these places said that he must use them on a daily basis, that he had spent seven years here sneaking throughout the castle largely out of sight. It was both an exhilarating and a scary thought.

Abruptly, James realised that the stranger had ceased talking, and he was looking at them expectantly.

'Well go on, run!' He urged, pushing James down the narrow passageway.

With no other apparent option, James set off at a jog.

As they reached the first junction, he turned around to thank their mysterious benefactor, but he was already gone.

James' heart was getting lighter and lighter with each location that they ticked off the map, the smile growing steadily on his face as the morning wore on. The passages that they took were completely devoid of human life, and seemed to take them throughout the castle much faster than should have been possible.

Magic, he supposed, was good to have on your side.

Cassie was trying to hide her pleasure behind a lot of huffing, and indignant stares at the map, but James could see a sparkle in her eyes when she thought he wasn't looking.

The armoury and the trophy room both provided much less resistance than an irate Madam Petheridge, and they breezed through the library in excellent time, making sure to keep voices down and show the utmost respect for anything resembling a book. James was a little sheepish about showing his face in the library so soon after being accused of trying to set it alight, but mercifully their venture today was librarian-free.

The passage out of the library spat them out onto the seventh floor, and the group hurried off to the nearby window, tapping away with their wands. James made to join them, but something in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and held it in a vice-like grip.

A stairway leading upwards, towards an innocuous wooden door, upon which was Spellotaped a small, handwritten sign.

The entrance to the eighth floor.

James was stopped in his tracks, unable to tear his eyes away. This was it, the home of Hogwarts' greatest mystery, possibly it's last unsolved one. This was where the Heart was hidden. The heart that may or may not be able to resurrect his Dad's precious map. A map that could help them win F.A.R.T hands down.

He felt a strange power emanating from the doorway, calling to him, urging him to come closer. Before he knew it he had taken a single step up the stairway, then another. A faint humming was drifting down the hall towards him, a sound so beautiful, he needed to find its source. It must have been coming from behind that door. He was halfway up the staircase by now, his friends oblivious, still trying to open a passage from a window. What did that even matter, when he was going to hear the most beautiful music on earth? He was going to be the one to solve the mystery of the eighth floor, and then that music would be his, and his alone. He reached out a hand to touch the door, to feel the grain of the wood–'

'James!' came a shout from below him, snapping him out of his reverie. His friends were standing aside the window, which had collapsed outwards to form a glassy bridge over to the nearby clock tower. A cool breeze wafted in through the opening and stirred his robes.

He looked at his outstretched hand, mere inches from the door handle, and back to Holly, her own arm extended to him, a concerned look on her face. He slowly made his way back down the stairs, shooting a concerned glance back over his shoulder.

Once back on the landing, Holly grabbed hold of his robes tightly, as if worried that he might make a dash for the doorway again.

'You can't go up there James, that's the eighth floor. It's _dangerous._ People get lost up there.' Her look was pleading, and something in her voice caused James to shake off the last of the lingering stupor.

'Sorry Holly, I… it was sort of calling to me. I dunno.'

She gave him a relieved smile, Cassie wasn't so kind.

'You're an idiot James Potter, I for one wouldn't have been running in to come find you.'

'No,' James muttered. 'You'd just hit me with a Stinging Jinx to make sure I had a _really_ bad time.'

She shot him an icy glare, before turning and stalking off out onto the bridge. Well at least she was talking to him now, he supposed.

By the time they had located all of the statues within the Castle, and were making their way across the grounds towards the greenhouses the icy mood had thawed somewhat. Owing to their "extra help" as Cassie referred to it, they had made excellent time, and had only three locations left on their list.

At the greenhouse they ran into Clip's team. He was busy fighting off some grabby hands of a baby Venomous Tentacula seedling, while Rain reached in through an open window to touch the statue.

'Only two more to go,' he grunted, swatting at the writhing tentacles. 'How about you guys?'

James could have let out a whoop of joy, they were almost dead even with Clip's team. From such a disastrous start, they had managed to pull right back into what was surely something close to first place, if Holly's analysis of Clip's prowess was anything to go by.

He heard Rain call out 'Find me' and quickly moved up to take his turn at the statue, hopefully before the plants blocked them off again.

As he stepped around Clip to get at the statue, Rain held out her hand to him.

'In here, James Potter,' she said.

Unthinking, James reached out to grab hold of her hand. He almost let out a yell as she pulled him in to lean through the window with her. There wasn't really enough room, and he had to work the hand holding his wand up awkwardly between them, all the while trying _very hard_ not to touch anything that his mother would call "inappropriate". He was coated in a light sheen of sweat by the time he was ready to go for the statue.

Up close, and when he wasn't busy going all dizzy, Rain smelt like, well, rain. Like after a hot day, and the ground was earthy and steaming. She was cool and refreshing, and a little heady, and it took a good while before James finally realised that she was staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to grab the statue.

Her hair was lit by the sun from behind, and it shone about her like pale fire. From where they were both squashed together leaning in through the same window, she whispered right in his ear.

'Good luck James Potter, and careful, the plants still bite.'

As she said it one nipped him on the fingers, but he barely felt it over the tingling sensation that had spread throughout his entire body.

He began to finally feel normal again about a quarter-hour later, as they made their way down to the boathouse, and their final location on the list.

'So what is it with you and Rain?' Holly asked, as they made their way down the winding steps. 'I swear every time you see her you get this weird look in your eye and you go all gooey. Do you luuuuuuurve her James?' She drew out the word, and giggled.

'Puh-lease,' scoffed Cassie. 'The only thing James loves is breakfast, and that old broom of his. _I_ think she must be part-Veela, although it is difficult to tell; James acts an idiot a lot of the time, not just when he's around her.'

James was quickly realising that maybe he liked it better when Cassie wasn't talking to him, after all. Old broom? His Mum had rode that when the Harpies had won the league three years back, and it hadn't put a twig out of line for him since.

'Well the fact that he practically had his wand up her skirt when they were in that window probably means she likes you too,' Tristan said with an all-too-smug smile.

'I did not! Look – the boathouse!' James dashed ahead to put an end to _that_ conversation.

Abutting the lake, with one side open to the water, and two narrows piers reaching forth towards the depths, was the boathouse. A rarely-frequented spot for even the most adventurous of Hogwarts students. It sat huddled low at the base of the hillside, the forest marching right up to its very doors.

The rest of the group picked up their pace to match James'. The finish line, and perhaps victory, were in sight.

Breathing heavily, James skidded into the boat shed at the head of the group, slipping slightly on the damp floor. The room was dark, poorly lit despite the brilliant sun outside. Narrow, grimy windows ran the length of both walls, and cast a murky glow upon the eerie scene before them. A single boat was tied to the moorings, and rocked lazily on a gentle swell. Gently creaking ropes and lapping waves played a sharply contrasting duet to James' frantic scan of the building.

He dashed over to the nearest shelf and began sifting through the clutter, casting broken oars and torn netting to one side. A sound from the far end of the shed caught his attention and he spun around, only to hear a voice that made the bottom drop out of his stomach.

'Well look at this, if it isn't Potter and his little pals. I was hoping we would get a chance to meet up somewhere… out of the way.'

James fixed his fiercest scowl on his face.

'Preston,' he spat.

Lynch was striding down the pier he had been standing on, and over to where James' group was clustered. With a jolt of fear he realised that Lynch had blocked off their only way out of the shed. They were trapped.

The rest of the team were assembled behind Lynch, but looked far less certain about what was about to happen. A large Slytherin boy was simply copying Lynch's stance, but looked very confused, and the two girls behind them were trying very hard to pretend that they couldn't see what was about to happen.

James stepped up in front of his group to face off with Lynch. This was getting old, fast.

'Back off Lynch,' he growled. 'Nobody likes a sore loser. And you heard what Lilian said, you hurt me and you'll really be in trouble.'

Preston just laughed at him. The big Slytherin boy laughed as well, again following Lynch's lead.

'I'm not scared of her, Potter. She thinks she's special because her Dad played for a minor league club. She's nothing; my uncle played on a national team, and I am going to be on the Gryffindor team, whether you like it or not.'

'Not a chance Lynch, you're nothing but a whiny loser who got beaten by a better flier. Me.'

'That's not very nice, Potter,' he jeered. 'I think you might need to _cool off_.'

James opened his mouth to tell him to back off again, but Lynch was going for his wand. James' heart skipped a beat as he belatedly fumbled for his own, in the pocket of his robes. He saw Lynch pull his own out, and whip it around in their direction. James' had caught on his pocket and was stuck. He tugged at it, and felt something tear as it burst free. He brought it up in front to face off Lynch, but he already had a spell on his lips.

'Flipendo,' cried Lynch, before James could do anything.

In a mounting panic as the deep red burst of light whipped through the air towards him, James let his instincts take over, and he dived and rolled to his left. He sprung up again as quickly as he could, crashing his shoulder hard into the shelf next to him. His left arm instantly went dead but he was up and in a fighting stance with his wand levelled. The spell had missed him clean.

A scream and a splash told James that not everyone had been so lucky.

He spun around – all thoughts of the impending duel forgotten – to see Cassie frantically struggling in the water. Her arms were waving madly about, tangled up in her robe. Even as he watched she began to sink below the surface, her cries for help reaching a desperate pitch.

She couldn't swim.

Again giving way to pure instinct James pushed passed an open-mouthed Holly, and made to dive in after Cassie. From the corner of his eye he saw a panicked look on Tristan's face as he frantically tried to draw his own wand.

As James made to dive into the water he felt a spell hit him square in the back, the force of it knocking him clean off his feet. He tried to bring his hands up to break his fall, but too slowly, and he hit the slippery boards, bouncing once, his wand flying from his grip, before sliding over the edge and into the all-encompassing grasp of the icy water.

He came up spluttering, gasping for air. His back hurt where the spell had hit, his left arm refused to move like it was supposed to and he couldn't feel his legs. Desperately, he looked down, trying to kick with all his strength, but they refused to obey. He strained, put all his effort, his willpower, into forcing them to move, but they hung beneath him, limp and useless.

Real fear began to bubble up to the surface now. He barely heard Tristan or Holly shouting spells at Preston, forcing him back down the pier under their barrage. His robes felt so heavy in the water, constantly tugging him downwards, sapping precious strength just to stay afloat. He looked downwards, but couldn't see the bottom, only his useless legs hanging beneath the waves.

Slowly, painfully, he dragged himself over to where Cassie was thrashing, her shouts now interspersed with fits of coughing. As he neared her she latched onto his arm in a death-grip, and his heart stopped briefly as he thought her added weight was going to drag them both down.

'I've got you, Cassie, look at me. I've got you, you're safe now,' he said to her over and over, trying to force a calm into his voice that he certainly didn't feel. His arms were burning, and Cassie's grip around his torso was painfully tight.

He was tiring rapidly as he approached the pier, his legs still devoid of all feeling, his left arm aflame. His head ducked beneath the surface briefly and he gasped, inhaling a mouthful of water. He tried to force himself back up above the surface, but Cassie's weight was too much, and she wouldn't let go. He floundered around, looking for something to grab hold of, to pull himself up. His lungs were burning; he couldn't hold his breath any longer. Fear was an icy dagger plunged into his chest as his robes continued their incessant tugging downwards. Spots swam across his vision before him, light-headedness taking over. He began to feel sleepy and slow, when a hand gripped the collar of his robes and dragged him forcibly up onto the pier.

Air, cold, sweet air, flooded into James' lungs. He gasped and coughed in tandem with Cassie, laying on the wet boards of the pier, shivering despite the warm afternoon heat.

Tristan was looking down at him, concern written across his face. One of his arms was wet up to the elbow, and he had a nasty cut above his left eye that was slowly leaking blood.

Holly was in a similar pose kneeling over Cassie, who was still coughing up water, nearby.

'Bloody hell, Potter,' he said, breathless, 'you gave us all a scare. Next time you pull one like that, make sure you can swim as well.'

James scrubbed a hand across his face to get the water out of his eyes.

'I can,' he said, 'but something is wrong with my legs.'

He looked down at them again, now that his brain was functioning at a normal level again, he could see that they were stuck fast together. Warm relief flooded through him at that.

'Leg locker,' affirmed Tristan. 'I don't know the counter-jinx though.'

That could be an issue; neither did James.

Suddenly a chilling thought struck James. 'My wand!' he exclaimed, casting his eyes about frantically. If it had fallen into the water he would have no chance of finding it. He certainly didn't fancy diving back in for a look; he had done enough swimming for today.

Tristan smiled warmly down at him and offered him a hand to get up.

'Holly saved it, right before it rolled into the water. She made a dive and came up firing some pretty nasty stuff at Lynch. Was her that scared them off, not me. She got Lynch with a nasty Trip Jinx on the way out; I reckon he went down pretty hard.'

Good, James thought, the harder the better.

Tristan helped him over to where Cassie was sat. Holly was rubbing her back, and had taken off her own robe to drape over Cassie's shoulders.

Tristan lowered James on to the ground beside Cassie. She was shivering uncontrollably, and tears were making glistening tracks down her cheeks. James didn't know what to say; the only words that they had shared over the past week had been hurtful ones. Were they still even friends?

In the end he didn't have to say anything, as she launched herself at James and wrapped him up in a hug just as tight as when she had been holding onto him in the water.

Exhaustion, coupled with the inability to move his legs, meant that James buckled under her weight, and she ended up sprawled on top of him, her head buried in his chest.

James was feeling a little uncomfortable, and something was digging into his back, but Cassie looked like she was working herself up to say something, so he persisted.

'I'm so sorry James, I'm sorry for being mean to you all week, and not talking to you, and not telling you about the chicken sooner. I'm sorry I almost drowned us both and that I can't swim and the Preston Lynch was so mean to you.'

She paused here to take a breath, but James jumped in before she could continue.

'Can you cast the counter-jinx to a leg-locker?' he asked.

'I – Yes, why?' She looked up at him. He gestured down at his limp legs and realisation dawned on her face. 'You jumped in the water after being hit by a leg-locker?' She practically screeched. James grimaced; she was entering scary-Cassie mode again. 'James Potter what stupid kind of an idea was that?'

She propped herself up, all the better to yell at him, he supposed.

'What on Earth was going through that thick head of yours Potter? Everyone says Gryffindors are stupidly brave, but I didn't realise that it was stupid and brave!'

Despite himself, a broad smile was slowly spreading across James' face. It was good to have Cassie back.

'I've missed you,' he said.

She huffed, and then jabbed her wand at him. His legs sprung apart quite violently. Before he got the chance to thank her she was stalking off up the pier.

She turned to face them all, one eyebrow raised.

'Well? Have you found the statue yet? It is the last location on the list. We are sort of in the middle of something, are we not?'

Tristan was shaking his head in disbelief. James smiled at that; Cassie was quite a lot tougher than she looked.

'It's over there, near where Preston was when we first arrived. I think he dropped it when we came in,' Holly offered.

Cassie muttered something along the lines of: 'at least one of you was paying attention.'

The bedraggled group hurried their way back up the grounds after Locating the final Trophy. James was feeling very pessimistic about their performance; all the time that they had saved in the first leg with the secret passages had well and truly been eaten up by fighting with Lynch. He mentally kicked himself; he couldn't spend the entire year breaking out into a fight every time they crossed paths. One or both of them was likely to get into serious trouble, and now James' friends were getting hurt. He didn't know how to stop it though, outside of just giving up his spot on the Quidditch team. Although he didn't think Lilian would let him do that.

Holly was insistent that they tell the teachers what Preston had done, and she pressed her point as they made their way past Hagrid's Hut.

'But Cassie almost drowned!' she wailed. 'And so did James, plus you are bleeding, Tristan. We can't just let him get away with it!'

'I'm only bleeding because I hit my head trying to duck his 'Mimblewimble' spell,' Tristan admitted sheepishly. 'And besides, if we were to inform the teachers then we, too, would be disqualified from F.A.R.T. I would rather like the opportunity to get back at Lynch for today's little episode. On the pitch, as it were.

'Also Holly, some of those spells you were using… I'm not sure they were… erm… quite within the school curriculum, I suppose one would put it. That orange one you cast, it managed to melt through a quite solid section of the boathouse wall back there. What exactly was it?'

'Fine, fine,' Holly sighed, raised her hands defensively. 'I give in, we leave it. We have to make sure we beat them next time.'

It didn't escape James' notice that she had successfully evaded that very pointed question from Tristan.

'Agreed,' said Cassie firmly. 'I want a chance to crush Lynch fair and square, and rub it in his face when we win the Mystery Grand Prize.'

James nodded obediently, but he was beginning to think that it would take nothing short of a miracle if they were to come back and win that Mystery Grand Prize.

It was with great apprehension that James and his team finally entered the Great Hall. Dom beamed widely when she saw him approach, then frowned when she saw that he and Cassie were both wet, and Tristan was bleeding.

Preston Lynch looked up from where he was leaning against the wall wearing a smug grin. A small silver trophy sat next to him on the ground. At least one team had beaten that insufferable prat; James hoped it was Clip.

'Oh, we ah… had a bit of an accident down at the boathouse,' Holly stammered. 'Sort of tripped over each other, and James and Cassie fell in.'

'What are we going to do with you?' Dom gasped, mock-dramatically. 'Quick, better head off to the Hospital Wing you two, get something to warm you up. You came in ninth, by the way. Great job.'

She was beaming, but James could only manage a twisted grimace in reply. Ninth, almost dead middle of the pack. He peeked over at the leader board which was hung up on the wall. Freddy had come in fourth, and Clip's team, thankfully, had been the ones to beat Preston. Thank Merlin for small mercies, he supposed.

He and Cassie made their way up the steps to the Hospital Wing for the second time that day, after Tristan talked his way out of joining them. James didn't feel like talking to any of his other friends at the moment anyway; his failure was too fresh, too raw still. He didn't want to be constantly reminded of it by having to relive everyone else's Hunt over and over again for the rest of the day.

Madam Petheridge huffed at seeing James for the second time that day, but when she was in Caring Mode there was little room for admonishment, and so she herded the pair of them to an empty bed, muttering about the 'sheer lunacy of it all.'

James lay back on the bed crossways while the Healer bustled off to the back room, shutting the door behind her. The cold was starting to seep into his bones now, in spite of the warm afternoon sun pouring in through the high windows. Seeing Cassie shivering quietly beside him began to set James off as well. He grabbed one of the blankets and wrapped it tightly around himself, offering a corner to Cassie.

The two of them were sat like that, huddled beneath the scratchy wool blanket, shivers slowly abating, when suddenly the shutters to the entire Hostpital Wing windows slid closed. The candles briefly sputtered to life, thinking it was nigh time, before being extinguished equally quickly. James made to stand up, his eyes darting around the room. Madam Petheridge was still in her back room mixing up the Pepper-Up Potion. He hadn't seen anyone come in the front door.

As if the mere thought had set it in motion, the bolt on the front door slid across into its latch with a slow, keening squeal. The room was almost entirely dark now. He felt Cassie grab his hand and jumped in fright. He was casting his eyes about the room, desperately trying to see anything through the gloom. He wanted to call for the Healer, but something was stopping him, an unknowable force pressing him gently, quietly back down onto the bed next to Cassie, who was shivering now in fear as well as chill.

A voice reached out to them from the darkness, soft and sibilant. It send a shiver down James' spine that had little to do with the cold.

'Well don't you two just make a splendid little couple?'

A second voice, deeper in pitch, responded.

'Don't they just. As do we.'

With that statement a sputtering light sprang forth from the end of two wands, fitfully illuminating two faces.

James squinted, trying to recognise the two figures before him, but every time he attempted to take in the lines of their face, the colour of eye or hair, his own eyes seemed to slide right off them. He stared at the figure on the left intently, taking in every detail of his nose, and the squareness of his jaw, only to realise he had forgotten everything that he had just seen the instant he took his eyes away. Cassie gasped next to him, and squeezed his hand tighter.

'Not to worry, children' said Deep-Voice, who was the one on the left. 'We mean you no harm, well not yet anyway.'

The other one, whom James had named Silk, after his soft voice, gave a low chuckle.

'My colleague is right,' he said, leaning in closer towards them. Only darkness winked back at James from his eye sockets. James swallowed hard. 'Consider this more… a warning, or a teaching, if you will.'

James _still_ couldn't pin down either of their appearances. Not even their height, as it had appeared that at first Silk was the taller of the two, though now Deep-Voice was towering over them all.

'I'm sure that on your arrival to the Great Hall upon your first day you will have noticed many a rapid exchange of coins between the hands of the older students.' He paused here, and all James could do was nod dumbly. 'Good, well that exchange is the single-most lucrative gambling event of the Hogwarts calendar year, outside of the Quidditch matches. Hundreds of Galleons trade hands, mountains of coins are wagered, lost and won. Sitting atop that mountain, is us.

'Over the past seven years we have spent our time at Hogwarts crafting an empire like none other, accounting for and tracking every single Galleon that enters these halls. By the time you had lain your pretty little heads down on your pillows on that first night, you were already on our Lists, next to a tiny figure detailing the size of the liquid assets that you bring to the table.'

James' sense of dread was growing with every passing second around these two. They had gone through his belongings and counted all his coins before bed on that first night? He couldn't think of any other way that they would know. He was starting to question how safe this school really was, when most of the danger seemed to be coming from within its own walls.

Deep-Voice had taken over the commentary now, and Silk stood up and leaned back to take his turn at looming.

'That's right, every time so much as a Knut changes hands within these walls, we know. We have people everywhere, and where we don't have people, we have _us._ ' The candle-like light from their wands was flickering in an unfelt breeze. James' eyes kept flicking back to the door to the back room, willing Madam Petheridge to come back with their potions.

'The short of it is this, Potter. We run the largest gambling racket that Hogwarts has ever seen. You're cousin has come up with this little treasure hunt for first years, and _bang!'_ Silk clapped his hands for effect. It worked, James and Cassie both jumped clean off the bed. Silk laughed his quiet laugh again.

'We haven't seen a flow of gold like this since they increased the Quidditch schedule from six to eighteen games per year. The people are going crazy over your little club, and all of their money is ending up in our hands. We control the betting, so we also control the odds, you see? You can bet on anything in Hogwarts if you know who to talk to. Who is going to be the first student to get detention from Professor Ellfrick? How many days until a certain couple get caught in a broom cupboard? _Which_ broom cupboard will they be caught in? It's all in our little black book, and the money all comes back to our hands.

'We pay out fairly, of course. If one is to run an illegal gambling ring under the noses of the entire faculty, one cannot run the risk of a disgruntled customer alerting them to our operations. Of course, we also have extra muscle for those sorts of jobs.'

James was _really_ not liking where this is going.

'But we digress,' Silk began. 'We have gathered you here today, James Potter to congratulate you, you made us very wealthy individuals today. For some unknown reason, as soon as we had stolen the Teams List from your cousin and released them to our sources the money positively flooded in for you to win it. Suppose they thought that it was something in the family name, eh?

'Either way, you coming in an astoundingly average middle of the pack means that we walk away with all of those Galleons, free to invest in some of our other ventures. Naturally, the team that won so easily today has quickly supplanted you as favourites, so we might just have to find a way to get you back on the top of that ladder. I mean, everybody loves an underdog, right?

A glint of gold in the candlelight, and James instinctively reached out to catch the object – a large golden Galleon.

'We'll be in touch, Potter,' called Silk, as the pair walked off. 'We'll see if we can't manage to liberate a few more of those Galleons from their unwitting owners. Consider that a payment for services.'

James looked down at the Galleon, by the time he looked back up the doors to the Hospital Wing were swinging shut and the lights were restored. He blinked, momentarily blinded. Cassie's grip on his left hand was vice-like by this stage. He opened his mouth to – what, reassure her? He needed a whole load of reassuring, himself. And perhaps a hug from his mother.

With a bang the door to the back room flew open and Madam Petheridge hurried out, holding two steaming flasks, completely unaware of everything that had just occurred under her very nose.

James didn't even contemplate telling her, Silk and Deep-Voice seemed like the type who would know before the words were even out of his own mouth. That was a terrifying enough thought in itself.

Pepper-Up potion and a drying charm removed the chill, but did nothing for the lingering sense of unease, as they were shooed back out into the hall. Cassie had let go of James' hand, and they walked in silence for a while.

'Some day, huh,' James eventually offered up, lamely.

Cassie turned to face him, and she had tears in her eyes.

'This is _exactly_ what I meant, that first day on the train James, about how people like me hanging around people like you always ends up with us getting hurt.'

A quick scan for a more private location and James pulled her through a side door. Mercifully this one didn't lead to a broom closet, merely an unused classroom. He took a seat perched on the teacher's desk, and gestured her to do the same.

'What do you mean?' James asked, still not quite able – or not quite willing – to process what she had said.

'I mean me, and adventures, and confrontations, we don't mix. These are things for people like you, people that the whole school already knows their name, and have a boatload of detentions and don't care about it. People who pull wands first and ask questions later. That's your world James, I'm just not sure that I belong in it.'

James was stunned.

'No way, Cassie, that's not true at all. Today would have been fine if Lynch hadn't shown up, and I could have easily got you out if he didn't hit me with that stupid leg-locker. Besides, you know more spells already than anyone else in our year. When Aunt Hermione–'

'Oh please James, don't compare me to Hermione Granger. The brightest witch of her generation, part of the Trio that defeated Voldemort! She lives for adventure, in _her_ first year she had already–'

'Taken out a troll, I know, but she wasn't _hunting_ for it. She was in the bathroom, crying, because my dad and Uncle Ron had been mean to her. They showed up and _together_ they beat it. She showed Ron how to do the spell, a spell he had never been able to do before.

'I think you are a lot more like her than you say Cassie. I think our troll just looked a bit like Preston Lynch, and _our_ troll smelled a lot worse.'

She gave a very un-Cassie-like giggle, and a thought struck James.

'I know an adventure that you will love, _and_ it will help us to win F.A.R.T club, too. We can get back at Preston with no confrontation, no wands, just you, me and an adventure. But you can't tell anyone, _especially_ Rain.'

Her smile faded, she didn't look convinced. James jumped in before she could turn him down.

'Come on, I promise you, no drowning, not even any running. The easiest adventure ever.'

She mulled it over for a good minute before finally giving in with a sigh.

'Fine James Potter. I, Cassandra Featherstone agree to go on a single adventure with you, James Potter, providing that there is no fighting, bad spells, angry rivals, or running. Definitely no running.'

A broad grin was forming on James' face. It looked like it was time to finally bring out his Father's old Cloak.


	8. Chapter 8

'No.' Said Cassie, quite firmly. 'Nuh-uh. Not a chance, James Potter.'

They were huddled in an alcove, behind a statue of a one-eyed witch on the third floor. They were arguing in heated whispers. Curfew was fast approaching, and the dim, flickering light spat out by the candles offered more of a conspiratorial cast to their meeting.

'Oh come _on_ Cassie,' James begged. 'It's the perfect adventure!'

'It's the perfect way to get detention if we get caught. Not to mention lose house points. I'm sure that may not be such a big deal to someone like you, but that _matters_ to me.'

James rolled his eyes.

'But we can't get caught, look!'

He slipped under the cloak, ducked around Cassie, and goosed her from behind. She gave an indignant squeal, and spun about madly, trying to locate James beneath the cloak. He crept up as close as he could, to whisper in her ear.

'If you can't see me, neither can the teachers.'

She shivered and jumped back, crashing into an adjacent portrait. Its occupants shouted indignantly at the interruption to their tea-party.

'Who's out there?' came a voice from further down the corridor. 'Lumos.'

A bright light flared, casting about the dim passage. James quickly wrapped Cassie up in the cloak, and held her in a bear hug with a hand over her mouth, just in case she got any funny ideas.

Professor Budd shuffled along the corridor in front of them, his fluffy slippers slapping softly on the gritty cobbles. He was looking left and right, muttering softly to himself as he went. In the distance the clock chimed nine o'clock. Curfew time, if they were caught now it was a guaranteed detention. James felt Cassie writhe in his grip, but he held her tight, her tiny frame was little trouble to subdue.

James' breath caught as Professor Budd seemed to look right at them, his wand hovered momentarily still in the air, and a small frown crinkled his brow. He felt Cassie sag against him, and he echoed her with his own hearty exhale when the professor continued on with his shuffling patrol.

Once the coast was clear again, James let Cassie wriggle out of his grip, and braced for the tirade that was surely to follow.

'That was… exciting.' She said, her voice breathy.

James raised his eyebrows. Cassie was looking up at him, her cheeks flushed a deep red, her hair tousled, lips slightly apart. All in all a very un-Cassie-like look.

He gripped her by the shoulders, his face split by a ludicrous grin.

'Yes! See? This is perfect! We can find all the secret passages, the shortcuts between floors, entrance to the house-elf corridors, everything! We will be the slipperiest, fastest F.A.R.T team out there. We'll show Preston _I'm-so-good-at-farting_ Lynch!'

Cassie let out a little half-hiccup half-giggle, and set about straitening her hair. James lifted the cloak clear of their feet so they wouldn't trip, and they set off on their maiden adventure.

Aside from their run-in with Professor Budd, the rest of their night was spent in a relatively uneventful fashion. Secret passages, it would appear, were secret for a reason, and weren't simply scattered about the castle for any unwitting first-year to stumble into. They tried numerous portraits, felt around behind tapestries, and tapped away with their wands on every odd protrusion from the walls.

They quickly learned to stay away from the broom closets, after the second one they opened revealed a pair of older Hufflepuff students in a _very_ compromising position.

Come to think of it, all the grunting and moaning should have alerted them in the first place.

Finally, as the clock chimed twelve, and after far less secret passage and far more Hufflepuff bare bottom than James had ever bargained on seeing, they decided to call it a night. He dropped Cassie off at the Ravenclaw tower, and made his way back eagerly to the warm embrace of his bed.

The night-time adventures with Cassie quickly became a regular fixture in James' weekly Hogwarts routine. Classes, Quidditch, more classes, sneak out in an attempt to uncover lost secrets of an ancient school, and back to more classes. James would head up to bed before curfew on certain nights of the week, and slip on the cloak, draw the curtains around his bed, then sneak back down out through the common room past his oblivious friends.

It was the beginning of a somewhat unhealthy obsession.

Their failure from the first round still burned hot and raw, and in James' eyes he was doing all that he could to make up for letting his team down. The same way that Ryan O'Flaherty was out on the Quidditch pitch training longer and harder than any of the rest of the team, so too was he out creeping about the castle until the wee hours of the morning, trying desperately to find any sort of advantage that his team could carry into the next meeting.

Most nights he brought Cassie with him, save for when homework and study demanded her attentions. Holly had come several times, and Tristan only once; after they had fallen through a trapdoor in a secret passage and ended up in a dingy corner of the dungeon that had taken most of the night to escape from, he had declared that he was perfectly happy spending his energies elsewhere to help the team.

Much to James' resentment, his fixation with the new and exciting F.A.R.T club was more than shared throughout the rest of the school. For weeks after the first meeting it was all that the first-years would talk about; who had received which locations on their lists, who had stumbled across any secret passages, and who, if anyone, had received mysterious help along the way.

It was the secret passageways that really captivated the minds of the young students, those who didn't know them sought to uncover them, and those that did guarded their knowledge jealously, currying favours in exchange for a hint or clue. It became a twisted sort of currency among the first-years, and once the older students cottoned on to it they jumped in as well, sensing an opportunity for easy gains from minimal work. James had seen many a first-year toting a mountainous pile of books, or scrubbing a stain out of a dirty robe, for smug-looking upperclassmen, thinking themselves lords of all because of the knowledge they held.

Friendships were beginning to strain, as James found himself spending more time bundled away with his F.A.R.T team than any of his other friends, Freddy would often throw him hurt glances across the common room, as James worked on tactics, and drew up maps. He still stubbornly refused to share any of his secrets, and Fred had thus taken a similar approach in kind. James saw Cassie and Rain, usually an inseparable duo, caught up in a very heated exchange in the halls one Friday afternoon. Rain was a little terrifying when she was angry; her hair whipped about her like a fiery wind, and the air felt electric, charged with energy, and pregnant with the promise of an incoming storm.

Full credit to her, Cassie had stood strong in the face of that, and simply flipped her short hair and stalked off, dripping imperious indifference.

The flames of this all-encompassing zeal were fanned carelessly by the Ring of Upperclassmen Sponsors and Tacticians, or R.U.S.T as they referred to themselves. James was unable to work out if they were in league with Silk and Deep-Voice, or had risen up in rebellion against them, but they were now openly backing select teams of first-years.

It was common knowledge among the younger students that if you were considered among the elite F.A.R.T teams, then you would have been approached by a mysterious figure similar to James' Slytherin stranger from the first Hunt. The lesser teams, desperate to be a part of the action and gain a share of this help, had shifted to invoking some bizarre rituals in a fruitless attempt to summon a sponsor, up to the point where Professor Meadows had rounded a corner one day and been attacked by a frenzied Bowtruckle, apparently unsatisfied with its ceremonial dismemberment.

That had put a curb on the F.A.R.T enthusiasm, but only very briefly.

Holly had met with their own sponsors that night following the first Hunt, and had reported back very little, other than that they were three boys and a single girl, none of whom showed their faces, and said that they would approach the group at a later date when they had finished work on a project meant to aid them for the next meeting. In the meantime, they had suggested that the first years learn the more mundane routes about the castle like the back of their hands, as secret passages were little use if one had no idea where the fifth-year Transfiguration classroom was located in the first place.

To top off James' frantic start to school life was the Quidditch practices, which were increasing in intensity as the first game neared. Ryan had them out there three nights a week at minimum, and as James was training with the regular team, it was brutal. Most nights he was found limping back to the common room and crawling into his bed, covered in many a welt or bruise.

The Hydra ran an incredibly tight ship on the practice field, they had already cut a reserve player for showing up late to a single practice, and they accepted nothing less than one hundred percent on the field. James quietly studied the way Ryan moved amongst the players, the way he talked to them, a quiet joke here, an encouraging touch on the shoulder there. Everywhere he went among the team the morale was raised in his wake. This, James knew, was what a real leader looked like.

This all culminated on a breezy Saturday morning in mid-October, when the first Quidditch match of the year was scheduled to take place, between Gryffindor and Slytherin. There was a nervous tension in the air that morning at the breakfast table; the Gryffindor network of eyes and ears had been reporting back on Slytherin practices, and by all accounts their new Seeker was going to be tough to beat.

Ryan, as team captain, had been pushing team practices into extra overtime all that week. He was never seen far from the company of the rest of the Hydra, their heads together in some secret tactical discussion or another. The new Gryffindor Seeker, Diana Fairbourne, had broken down completely when the Hydra had cornered her in the corridors one afternoon, asking how many extra hours she was logging on her broom outside of practice.

She had spent that night in the hospital wing, knocked out on a steady supply of Calming Draught.

James could empathise with Ryan, however. This wasn't just any sport, this was Quidditch. This was a way of life.

As a member of the practice squad, James was required to attend the pre-match pep talk and final discussion, before the team took to the field. Ryan was pacing back and forth at the head of the locker room, the other two members of the Hydra, Connor and Lilian, were fidgeting restlessly. Poor Diana Fairbourne was looking an unseemly shade of green. Both beaters, brothers Archie and Will MacDougal, were trying to soothe her. They were having very limited success.

James sat towards the back, next to Freddy, as Ryan went over the tactics for the day's game.

'Today, Wood, you are going to be playing Enabler, as usual.' Lilian nodded curtly. 'Flint and I will play Finisher, I want a double-stacked western quadrant of the field, as the Snakes do the majority of the attacking up that left-hand side. Spinks Chases for Slytherin on that side, he's by far their best player, but he won't come in off the wing. He favours his left arm too much. I'll match up against him and shut him down.

'Beaters, I want the majority of your focus to be on that new Seeker, the Mansfield girl. She's wicked fast, and she has that new model Siberian Arrow broomstick. It's lightning. Keep her head down to give Fairbourne a shot at getting the snitch.

'We have the muscle up front, their chasers are no match for the Hydra, so if we can get a one-hundred sixty point lead, the snitch won't even matter.

'There's a lot of people out there watching today, but we aren't playing for them. We're playing for us. Look around, these are your brothers and sisters right here, and I can honestly say that there aren't six other people in this school who I'd rather have flying next to me. Let's get out there and start this season the right way, let's start it our way!'

James was caught up in the cheering that erupted following the speech. Freddy was next to him, whistling his support. As the team ran out onto the pitch James saw Ryan quickly take Diana aside and whisper a few words to her. Her greenish tinge faded, and a shaky smile broke out.

It was hard not to be in awe of Ryan O'Flaherty when it came down to it.

James and Freddy made their way out the back door of the locker rooms, to quickly find their seats before the match started. Cat and Clip were waiting for them outside. Cat was wearing a garish overcoat with bright red and gold tassels that stirred lazily in the breeze. A westerly wind, James noted. Ideal for shots from the wing that O'Flaherty was playing. Slytherin weren't going to know what hit them.

The group made their way to the Fred Weasley I Memorial stand, upon Freddy's very stern insistence. James didn't fancy getting vanished halfway to Hogsmeade mid-way through the match, but he had eventually been talked down by the unlikely pairing of Freddy and Cat, who thought that the stand was the best invention since a Nargle Net, whatever that was.

They made their way up the stand to a row of seats near the front. There were suspiciously few people about in this section of the stadium. James looked across at the D.L. Malfoy stand; it was packed to the brim.

As they made to sit down Clip let out a yell; he was in a less-than-graceful heap on the floor, poking his hand back and forth _through_ his seat, which evidently was not in the mood to support any weight today.

James lowered himself into his chair very cautiously, but suffered no adverse effects. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, it seemed like his chair was simply biding its time and waiting to strike. Fred vanished altogether, and James was about to get up and start looking for him, when something pinched him, hard, on the bottom.

'James, I think I'm invisible!'

James groaned, this could turn out to be a long game.

The group settled in, Cat a little disappointed that her chair hadn't turned her invisible, as the players were now mounting their brooms. James heartbeat quickened, this was _his_ team, and that would be him out there soon. He couldn't wait.

Declan Hawksby, the flying instructor, sounded the whistle, and the match was underway.

'And we are off, ladies and gentlemen in the first match of the Hogwarts Inter-House Quidditch Cup!' Commentary blasted across the grounds, from one of the stands opposite theirs. 'Wood is first to the Quaffle, she ducks an errant bludger, has a man open on her right but she holds on to it. Passes by a mess of floundering green limbs, look at this flying, she's making the Slytherin team look like trolls riding tree stumps!'

There was an angry roar from the crowd, particularly in the direction of the D.L. Malfoy stand, in response to that statement.

'Sorry Headmistress, Wood still with the ball, just the Keeper to beat now, Spinks bearing down on her from the left and–'

The crowd gasped as one.

'– an exquisite sloth grip roll and she avoids the collision entirely! Tosses it past the Slytherin keeper without a second thought, she just makes this game look far too easy.'

James briefly wondered if this mystery commentator didn't harbour a bit of a sweet spot for Lilian Wood. Mostly he was too busy cheering for his team.

The match continued in much the same tone as the first goal. The Hydra were a whirlwind on brooms, darting across all over the pitch. It was a level of teamwork and trust that James had rarely seen before. The MacDougal brothers were accompanying the Chasing master class with some excellent bludgers aimed at the Slytherin Seeker, Mansfield. The one time the snitch had appeared she had been mere feet away from closing her hand around it and winning the match for Slytherin, before she was forced to pull up or be knocked off her broom.

As Gryffindor approached a one hundred fifty point lead James' heartbeat began to quicken. If they could just get that buffer it wouldn't matter that Diana Fairbourne was having circles flown around her, their victory would be guaranteed.

When the score was one hundred seventy to twenty James joined in the rest of the Gryffindor faithful in getting up on his feet as Ryan O'Flaherty caught a beautifully weighted pass from Connor Flint. He ducked a defender and floated the Quaffle up to Lilian Wood, who juked seamlessly around the Keeper, and began streaking towards an open goal. In a desperate, last-ditch effort to stop her, one of the Slytherin beaters rocketed a bludger off in her direction. It cracked her square in the small of the back, and she fell forwards on her broom, barely holding onto the Quaffle. James gasped as she half-collided with the goalpost, but even from this distance he saw that she had put the Quaffle through. That was it. Gryffindor's lead was practically unassailable. He joined in the uproar.

He turned to hug a now-visible Freddy, who was frantically gesturing to the far end of the pitch. The snitch had appeared, and Diana Fairbourne was dashing towards it. She had a clear lead on her Slytherin counterpart, who was angling in to block her, rather than to catch the snitch herself.

Lilian Wood had crash-landed onto the pitch below the Slytherin goal, and was writhing on the ground. Ryan O'Flaherty was screaming angrily at Declan Hawksby, the referee, for some reason. James saw him signing a penalty gesture, and O'Flaherty tossed his hands up in the air in disgust.

All of a sudden James' blood went cold.

That gesture was the signal for Haversacking, the penalty whereby the Chaser was still holding onto the Quaffle as it passed through the goalpost. Lilian Wood hadn't been able to throw the Quaffle before she had crashed into the hoops. That meant her goal was nullified, and Gryffindor _weren't_ one hundred sixty points in the lead, they were only one hundred fifty.

And Slytherin now had the chance at a penalty shot.

Fred had realised the gravity of the situation at roughly the same time as James, and was now screaming his lungs out at Diana. It wasn't looking good; the Slytherin seeker, Odette Mansfield, was bearing down on her in a hurry. The stadium was erupting in a protracted scream from thousands of lungs, urging their respective Seekers on. Nearly lost in all the uproar was the Slytherin Chaser, Spinks, slotting the penalty goal, narrowing the margin to only one hundred forty points. If Diana didn't catch the snitch now, Gryffindor would lose.

To top it all up, Lilian still hadn't gotten up from being hit by the bludger, and Gryffindor was all out of time-outs.

James screamed his frustration, a perfect storm was brewing, and it was spelling their defeat.

Odette Mansfield executed a perfect contact with Diana Fairbourne, and knocked her wildly off path. James joined in the rest of the Gryffindor fans in screaming for a Cobbing foul, but the referee waved play on.

Diana was well back on the snitch now, which took a wild turn, veering directly towards the stand in which James was sitting. He groaned as Slytherin scored another goal in the background. With only two active Chasers, there was no way the Gryffindor could regain the one hundred sixty point lead; it was all down to who would catch the snitch right now.

James couldn't help but appreciate the sheer speed of the Siberian Arrow that Odette Mansfield was flying, she was bearing down on their section of the stadium at an alarming rate, with Diana desperately in tow. They were closing in so fast, they were going to have to pull off a perfect dive to avoid crashing into the stadium. James gasped as they kept coming. The snitch was unwavering on it's path almost directly into James' lap.

With a frustrated cry he saw Odette pull up on her Arrow, coming to a stop just inches from the bannister, right in front of James. He felt the snitch whizz over his head, and gasped along with almost a thousand other spectators, as a red and gold streak blurred past him, up into the stands.

There was no way that she could land this, James knew it. Diana was headed for a horrific accident. He heard her triumphant cry as her fingers enclosed on the snitch, and flinched away, expected a splintering crash and a scream of pain – but nothing.

He spun around, looking at where she should have crashed into an empty block of seats, but Freddy was gesticulating madly towards the centre of the pitch, where a very confused Diana Fairbourne was currently being mobbed by the rest of the team.

'The stand!' cried Freddy. 'It vanished her, right back onto the pitch! She's fine! We won! Ha, take that Mansfield, your flash broom can't do that!'

Odette offered Fred a heartfelt two-finger salute, before wheeling away to descend on poor Declan Hawksby with the rest of an irate Slytherin squad.

James was busy yelling and dancing with Fred, he wrapped up Cat, ridiculous overcoat and all, in a giant hug, and Clip and Freddy danced around them, chanting 'Diana, Diana, Diana!'

The Gryffindor common room was riotous that evening. Barring Lilian, who had suffered a fracture in her lower back, and was hospital wing-bound for at least the next few days, the entire house was out to celebrate. The Butterbeer flowed freely, and James spied a few bottles of Firewhiskey being handed around amongst the older kids.

He and Fred were crouched behind one of the armchairs, upon which Connor Flint was aggressively making out with a fellow sixth-year. Fred had produced from his bag another of his favourite Decoy Detonators, and was currently busy packing it full of what he loosely referred to as "the inside of a Weasley Wildfire Whizbang." The fact that James had to stand ready nearby with a large bucket of water was certainly enough to make him think that this prank was perhaps on the riskier end of the spectrum.

If Fred even _had_ a spectrum.

'James, Fred, if I catch you trying to let off another one of your Weasleys Wizard Wheezes products in the common room I'll make sure you both get detention. Not to mention I'll take 10 house points from each of you!'

The two boys jumped and Fred dropped the detonator he had been holding, it started smoking ominously so James doused it with a healthy serving of water.

James hadn't seen Victoire approaching them, he had thought that their spot behind the couches had offered a degree of privacy.

Victoire eyed them suspiciously as she glided on past. By the time her long silver-blonde hair had disappeared up to the dormitories a group of second-years had sat down nearby to start a game of Exploding Snap, and all chance of secrecy was well and truly lost.

James gave Freddy a wry smile as they packed up and headed back to join the party. Victoire had always been a little cold and aloof. Much like her mother, Uncle Ron said. His ears would always go a little red when they talked about Victoire's mother, Fleur.

Up until last summer Victoire had been dating Teddy Lupin, James' god-brother. The whole family had been excitable for years about that, certain that a marriage was on the cards. James' mother had been nigh unbearable during Teddy's last year at Hogwarts, nattering away about which flowers matched with which dress, and sending every magazine cutting for dress robes via owl to Teddy at school.

Victoire had been friendly towards them all while she had been with Teddy, she was practically a sister, the way Harry and Ginny saw it, and she returned the gesture in kind; taking time to play with James, Albus and Lily, even if he did sense that her heart wasn't always in it.

James wasn't certain what happened last summer, but Teddy had come home one night in tears, and Ginny had stayed up all night hugging him, soothing him to eventually send him off into a fitful sleep. Victoire showed up the next day in a similar state, begging for Teddy's forgiveness. Screaming about how hard it was to be in control all the time, whatever that meant. Teddy had locked himself in the attic upstairs and refused to come down and see her. Eventually Harry had had to take her back to Bill and Fleur's house.

There had been a few awkward glances at the family Christmas table that year.

Ever since then Victoire seemed to have wrapped the icy exterior about herself and wore it like a gown. Or, James mused, perhaps an armour to protect herself from getting hurt like that again.

She still acknowledged James in the halls, and they would share words occasionally, but there was something between them now, and he didn't see any way that he would be able to bridge that gap.

The whole debacle seemed to have hit Dom the hardest; she was very close with all her family, Weasleys, Potters and Delacours. She seemed to have been making a concerted effort to be extra friendly ever since then, as if she were making up for Victoire's lack of warmth. James didn't mind, he loved Dom like an older sister.

He could, however, do without all the strangulating hugs and the sloppy kisses.

Freddy traipsed off to bed shortly afterwards, grumbling about nosey cousins, and James checked his watch; he had planned on meeting Cassie again tonight, they were going to explore the Ravenclaw Tower.

He slipped casually out the portrait hole amidst all the confusion, and hastily grabbed his Cloak from his bag once out in the corridors.

He was caught up reliving his favourite moments from the day's game, and almost bumped into Cassie where she was waiting next to a shadowy alcove, and beneath a portrait of Rowena Ravenclaw reclining under a tree, book in hand. He opened the cloak and swept a grandiose bow, revealing his head and upper body.

'If my lady would care to step this way.'

Too late he noticed the frantic expression on Cassie's face, the way her eyes widened when he revealed himself, and the small, desperate shake of her head.

A figure disentangled itself from the shadows of the adjacent alcove and James swallowed, hard.

It looked like their game was up.


	9. Chapter 9

'Hello James Potter.'

He knew that voice.

'Rain.'

Before Rain could reply, Cassie turned on her with a glare.

'Nobody _invited_ you here Rain, we don't want you here. This is _our_ exploring time, the two of us. Having three people would just be uncomfortable. And besides, I _know_ what you want to do, we aren't interested in it.'

James thought he _might_ be interested in trying something new, but decided that this was a conversation where it was better for his life expectancy if he simply stayed out of it.

'You are hardly keeping it a secret, Cassandra. Disappearing out each night, coming back with your hair all messy and your cheeks flushed. You don't even try to hide it, it's like you _wanted_ us to know you were out here doing it with James.'

Cassie handed Rain what James referred to as glare number one. It was not to be trifled with under any circumstances; apparently Rain never received that particular memo.

'What James and I do is nobody's business but our own. We _both_ enjoy it, he told me. Sneaking out here to try and spy on us is disgusting!'

James' eyes were getting wider by the second. He wondered if maybe he could slip the cloak on and disappear before this turned completely mental.

'I bet James would much prefer to be doing it with me anyway! I am going to take him to the eighth floor, I bet you've never done _that_ for him.'

'He… he never asked for it. We have enough fun as it is, don't we James? I mean, the first time was a little bit slow, but ever since then it's been perfect! I don't even mind that you do it with Holly sometimes, that's ok, I guess.'

'Er…' James replied. He had been surreptitiously trying to sidle off towards a nearby door and wait this out, magical apocalypse that it was likely to be.

'See,' shot Rain, 'he just doesn't want to admit it. Come with me tonight James, I am going to explore the eighth floor. You are welcome to stay with Cassandra, of course. But you will probably just be doing the same thing you have been doing for the last few weeks, over and over again. Typical.'

'Well, I would like to see the eighth floor,' ventured James. That was an understatement, he had thought of little else since they began adventuring. 'Cassie, you are welcome to come, too. I'd rather do it with both of you, to be honest.'

Cassie looked deeply hurt, and a little resigned, like she had known that this was the unavoidable outcome. She sniffed and strode past the pair of them, her chin up defiantly.

'No James, I am sorry. Doing it with the two of you simply does not interest me. I shall see you tomorrow.'

With that she stalked off back up Ravenclaw tower. Rain slid underneath the Cloak and pressed up next to James, flashing him an innocent smile.

'Shall we?'

Girls, James decided, were an absolute enigma.

They reached the staircase up to the eighth floor, and James felt that familiar pull, like there was a force sucking him, willing him, upwards towards the unopened door. He steadied himself on the bannister for a moment. Rain turned and raised an eyebrow. He shook his head, and they continued upwards.

The door opened at the barest touch, swinging inward soundlessly.

Torches flickered to life in braziers, and the eighth floor corridor was revealed before them.

Dancing golden light illuminated slate-grey flagstones. Suits of golden armour stood ensconced in alcoves at regular intervals down the corridor. Each time they caught the light they briefly burned with holy fire. Windows ran down one length of the wall, opening out to show the starry sky, and the forbidden forest below, despite the fact that they were on the opposite side of the castle. Disgruntled portraits muttered angrily at the unseen intruders, having had their nightly slumber disturbed.

All in all it was much the same as any other corridor in the castle, if a little more eerie. James couldn't help feeling a twinge of disappointment at that, he had hoped for something more. He wasn't sure _what_ exactly, but something as magical and ominous as this section of the castle was rumoured to be should surely be marked out by equally striking environs.

Under the cover of the Cloak, the pair took their first step into the corridor.

The door swung shut behind them with a crash. James jumped, and instinctively spun to throw it open.

It revealed only an empty cupboard.

They were in the eighth floor now; and much like its many secrets, it would not give them up without a fight.

'Come, James Potter, there is nothing of interest inside that broom cupboard.'

Rain was peering eagerly down the hallway before them. He pushed the door closed behind them with a sense of dread, and turned to follow.

Perhaps Cassie had been right after all.

As they walked beneath the cloak James studied Rain out of the corner of his eye. He had been avoiding making eye contact, but the dizzying sensation that he had felt so strongly at the start of the year had seemed to fade as the term went on, and now he hardly felt it at all. Was he getting used to it? What even was _it?_

Up close, James noticed how tired Rain looked. Her eyes, once a vibrant sea-green, appeared cloudy, and dark rings were circled beneath them. Her hair, usually a lustrous red-gold, appeared almost a dull mousy brown in the flickering light. A few strands hung loose, where it was usually tied up impeccably. Her breaths were shallow and uneven, and every few seconds she would momentarily stop breathing altogether.

'Are you sick?' James blurted out.

She turned and offered him a smile. Somewhere in his stomach he felt a feeble stirring, nothing akin to what would usually happen when she turned her attention upon him.

'I am fine, James Potter. So kind of you to ask. I have not been sleeping well lately, is all.'

'Oh, well you could go to Madam Petheridge perhaps? Clip had something similar at the start of the year, and she gave him some potions for it–'

'No,' she said very firmly. James' eyes widened, but she forced her features to smooth before continuing much more calmly. 'No, I shall be fine. Madam Petheridge has more important things on her plate, besides.'

The conversation lulled for a period, and they took a series of left turns, that should have brought them back to where they had started. Instead James now saw the greenhouses out the window to his right, as if they were on the first floor. But this was not a corridor he remembered from any of his numerous adventures.

Rain seemed content to travel in silence, but it was making James slightly uncomfortable. She walked like a princess, even crammed under the cloak like they were, and he found himself rushing to open doors for her.

'Are you part Veela?' James eventually asked, simply for something to say.

Evidently, it was not the something that she had wanted to hear.

'Do you go around asking all of your friends that?' she snapped. 'Or is it because you are half troll, yourself?'

James' felt his cheeks heat up, and hoped that the relative darkness would hide his discomfort.

'No, I just… Cassie said–'

'Of course she did. And you thought it was fine to just go and ask me? At least Cassandra had the decency to keep her ridiculous ideas to herself.'

'I'm sorry,' James mumbled. 'It's just that you used to make me feel all funny, whenever you looked at me, and Uncle Ron always talked about that happening to him around Aunt Fleur, and she was part Veela.'

He didn't know why he was admitting any of this, his ears were burning now, and he was looking pointedly down at his shoelaces, as they passed through another empty classroom.

'What do you mean, used to?' Rain asked, an edge to her voice.

'Er… well it sort of died off, lately. I figured I was getting used to it, Uncle Ron used to do all sorts of silly stuff around Aunt Fleur, but he's allowed to sit next to her at the dinner table now, so I guess you sort of just get used to it eventually.'

' _For the love of Merlin James Potter I – am – not – a – Veela!'_

She looked genuinely angry now, the way she had when she was arguing with Cassie. A breeze was blowing down the corridor that they were in, despite none of the windows being open. James had to take a careful hold of the cloak so it didn't blow away.

'I… I don't know why you feel strange around me, James Potter. And if it has stopped then I suppose… I suppose it is good… for you.'

The way she said it sounded to James like she clearly thought otherwise.

'How about _I_ ask the questions for a change?'

James thought that was the best idea that he had heard all night.

'Where did you get this cloak from? It hardly seems like something any first-year would just have lying about. It's not _the_ Cloak of Invisibility, that Harry Potter used in defeating Voldemort, is it?'

James puffed out his chest, and grinned broadly. Rain gasped.

'He just _gave_ it to you? But why?'

'He doesn't need it so much anymore,' James explained, 'he can cast a Disillusionment Charm up there with the best of them, plus it's an extra thing to look out for if he is out doing secret Auror stuff, like if he loses it then someone bad could get their hands on it, and that would be terrible. Plus, I am his heir, so I get it.'

James couldn't help put a bit of extra bounce in his step, as he told her about his proudest possession. The great Peverell family Heirloom, that was now his own.

'But couldn't someone steal it from you at school?' Rain asked.

'No way, I have this secret compartment in my chest, inside the wall,' James stopped himself abruptly. He knew his father would _not_ be in favour of handing out secrets like that on a regular basis. He had specifically told him to keep the Cloak a secret when possible, but it was just so _cool_ , he couldn't help using it to show off occasionally.

'I see,' Rain continued, nonchalantly.

They continued down the passage that they were on. Rain asked several more questions, about the cloak, and James' family. It was much easier now that he wasn't having to think of what to say.

As they opened a door to find yet another dead end broom closet, James let out an exasperated sigh. This adventure had been somewhat of a let-down. It was just like any other part of the castle, except each door was a lucky dip in regards to where it would take them. They had seen not a single other soul the entire time, and no secret magic, no gatherings of Goblins, or House Elves plotting rebellion. Certainly no trace of a Lethifold colony. None of the rumours that were so prevalent among the first years appeared to have any grounding in the truth whatsoever.

And they had not even had so much of a glimpse at the Heart.

That was the real reason that James had agreed to come on this adventure, if he was honest. The Heart had been occupying his thoughts more and more of late, and not solely because he thought it might be their key to winning the F.A.R.T club. Something about it was pulling him in, was piquing his curiosity like nothing else. He wanted to resurrect his father's Map, yes, because it would make his father happy, and he could add it to his growing collection of powerful Heirlooms, but it was more than that. He wanted to find the Heart and resurrect his father's Map because it was something that nobody had ever done before, because it was something that neither his father, nor Fred's father, had ever achieved. But most of all, he wanted it because he felt like the _Heart wanted it._

He had finally figured out what that weird sensation he had felt was, when he approached that door the very first time. It wasn't just the magic of the eighth floor seeping out and ensnaring him, it had been a yearning, a physical desire, which he had felt. And it was in no part his own. He felt like the Heart wanted to be discovered, but more than that, it wanted to be discovered by _him._

He just had no idea why.

And so it was with a great sense of anticlimax that he tugged the Cloak off and stepped out from underneath it. Rain shot him a confused glance, and he shrugged in reply.

'I'm getting tired of this, we may as well try and find a way out of here.'

'Cassandra said that you don't last long sometimes,' was Rain's ambiguous reply.

'It's getting late, and who knows how long it will take us to actually find a way out,' grumbled James.

'Very well, James Potter, we shall leave.'

Rain spun out from under the Cloak as well, her robes whipping out about her as she pirouetted away, showing off her dark blue pyjamas underneath.

James pushed through the nearest door on his left, and led them through into another unremarkable corridor. Torches sprung to life in their sconces as they walked along, only the echoes of their footsteps for company.

'What would you like to be when you grow up?' Rain threw the question at him out of nowhere, breaking his silent reflection on the Heart.

James stopped and thought about that for a while. He really had no idea, he didn't even know what classes he would be taking in third year, let alone what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. He said as much to Rain.

She paused, her hand on the dull brassy handle of a door in front of them.

'Good,' she smiled, 'got to keep an open mind, I suppose.'

'What about you?' James countered, it seemed like this was why she had asked in the first place.

She pushed the door open into a darkness that James' eyes could not penetrate. She fixed him with a stare so intense, it held him in place where he stood. There was a brief flicker of vitality somewhere deep from within those tired eyes.

'Why, James Potter, I do believe that I shall take over the world.'

With that she spun away into the darkness again, her laughter playfully bouncing about the corridor, as mocking as it was coy.

Such a statement was absurd from an eleven-year-old girl, surely. Although James had seen that look in her eye, and for a moment had thought her completely serious, he had very nearly believed it possible.

If he had any idea the path that lay ahead of them, and the things that both would face, perhaps he would have believed a little harder.

For some reason, he was unsurprised when he passed through the doorway and found himself in the seventh-floor corridor outside the portrait of the Fat Lady. He somehow also knew, that even if he had looked around, he would find no trace of a tired-looking girl with red-gold hair, and dark blue pyjamas.

He slept hardly at all that night, and was still tired and irritable come the following Tuesday morning, where he sat in a Defence class, being harassed by a very upset Fred.

'I still can't believe you didn't tell me,' he hissed as Professor Meadows was instructing them on the wand movements for a Simple Stinging Spell, 'it's only the _single most exciting_ thing in the school. You would think that you'd bring your best friend along with you!'

'Weasley, Potter, if I catch the two of you talking one more time we will be using your pert little bottoms for today's target practice!'

James jumped clean out of his chair. A hand clapped to his buttocks instinctively. They were not _pert._ Whatever pert was.

Fred shot him a hurt look and turned back to his book. James sighed in defeat. Fred was often so caught up in trying to be the reincarnation of the original Marauders that he often didn't stop to think whether what he was doing was a good idea for the average eleven-year-old. Although one could argue that Fred was far from an average eleven-year-old.

Professor Meadows ordered the students up and, with a wave of her wand, sent the desks sliding up against the walls to create a large open space the length of the classroom. She then divided the class up into pairs and set them up to fire at a target which was drifting lazily back and forth at the far end of the room.

They were using the Simple Stinger, the intricacies of which she had just been telling them. James shot a puzzled look a Clip while another pair were taking turns.

' _Parvadola_ , is the incantation,' Clip offered helpfully, 'and you just sort of stab your wand, like so. It's a pretty harmless spell by all accounts, but a good one to use for target practice.'

'Thanks Clip, I owe you one.'

'I would say you owe me a secret passage, but I don't think there's any that you know that I don't already.'

James shot him a dirty look.

'We'll see just who's laughing after the next F.A.R.T club. Your little super-team won't be on top for long.'

'I'd like to see you try,' Clip laughed, 'I may not be good at this making magic business, but if there's one thing I am good at, it's riddles and logic puzzles. You don't stand a chance. Plus Rain knows like _every_ shortcut through the castle, it's uncanny. She's a bit strange that girl.'

Now _there_ was a point that James could certainly agree on.

Fred, who had been paired with James, leaned in upon mention of F.A.R.T club.

'James, you sort of sucked last time. Ninth place is nothing.'

James fumed; he itched to tell someone, anyone about the incident with Preston down at the boathouse, but the way the F.A.R.T club fever had swept over the entire school there was no telling if anyone would just go running straight to the teachers, in order to get both teams disqualified, and remove some competition.

That fact alone spoke more about the effect that F.A.R.T was having on the first-years than any number of little trophies or house points possibly could.

'I'll give you this though James,' added Clip diplomatically, 'our R.U.S.T sponsors are still very wary of your team. They've given us no fewer than a dozen spells to slow you guys down – not that we would ever use them!'

'Who even are your sponsors?' James shot back.

'Well I'm hardly going to tell you now, am I?'

Fred shook his head offering a similar sentiment.

'You tell us yours first.'

'Well, I don't actually _know_ mine.' James admitted.

This produced matched confused looks. Clip was dragged away for his turn at target practice, while Fred continued to press the issue with James.

'What do you mean you don't know? Do you not have any? Our sponsors said that… Never mind that, but they were sure you had _someone.'_

'We have someone, we just aren't sure who. They won't show us their faces. They said not to bother them until they approached us. That they were working on a project of some kind. I bet it's something that guarantees that we win.'

Fred rolled his eyes, as Professor Meadows called them up to take their turn.

'Alright Fred, James. Five shots each, if you hit the target in the centre ring you get green sparks, hit it outside of that, and you get red. Best out of five, go!'

Fred stepped up, winked at James.

'Put a secret passage on it?'

'You're on,' James replied.

Fred promptly made five out of five direct hits, James' exasperation growing with each successive verdant cascade. To top it off Fred twirled his wand dramatically as he made the last shot, and holstered it in his pocket, like a muggle with a gun.

James rolled his eyes, Leah Ridley was clapping very enthusiastically.

'Let's go James!' Gemma Lewis called out. Leah stuck out her tongue at her best friend.

Clip was standing in the background making the stabbing wand motions with his quill, a hopeful expression on his face.

His first shot had hit the target as it bobbed across in front of the window, clear in the centre. A shower of green cascaded to the floor. A scattering of applause followed. His second and third shots were perfect as well, he easily tracked the target as it crawled sluggishly across the room.

'No pressure James,' Fred called out.

James felt a trickle of sweat crawl down his spine, and surreptitiously wiped at his brow. He ran a hand through his hair and shifted his weight from foot to foot. Had the target sped up? He turned to see Gemma watching him fixedly. She blushed a little under his scrutiny and turned away. The target was surely moving faster now. James raised his wand, and took aim. His hand wouldn't stop shaking.

' _Parvadola!_ ' he cried.

A shower of green sparks met his effort, and there was a mixed chorus of groans and cheers from the class, who had now stopped to watch. They knew the value of having to give up the knowledge of a secret passage in the current climate. Only Emry was still putting up a façade of work, he had Professor Meadows leaning over the desk explaining something to him.

James' heart was starting to beat faster now. Fred had a small grin on his face that James thought looked a little too smug for his liking. Clip was leaning in expectantly, as were several others from the class. Even Cat had ceased gazing out the window, and was now lying on her stomach atop a desk, watching with an intense gaze.

James ran his hand through his hair again. It came away damp. He wiped it on his robes, shifted his weight again. The target continued to drift across the end of the class, unconcerned by the roomful of eyes fixated on its every move. James tried to track it with his wand, but his palms were slippery now, and he couldn't get a good grip. He switched hands, wiped his palms again.

His breathing was out of sync with his heart rate, he couldn't find a point where his arm was sufficiently still to take the shot. He tracked the target right across the room.

'Shoot already,' someone called out from behind him.

As the target reached the centre of the room, right in front of Professor Meadows' giant Foe-Glass, James took the shot.

Just as something darted up under the hem of his robe and bit him, hard, on the bottom.

He yelped, and leapt into the air, but the damage was done, he had already cast the spell.

His narrow jet of golden light shot across the room. Fred's smug look was painful to behold. Something told James that whatever it was that had bitten him had at some point in time lived inside Freddy's bag.

James heard his own internal groan vocalized by over a dozen voices as the golden jet shot wide of the target altogether, and with a sharp ping cracked into the Foe-Glass behind.

A sharp intake of breath forced James to open his eyes as he saw, in a moment of panic, his own spell heading right back towards him. He ducked and rolled out of the way just in time, he felt the crackle in the air as it passed overhead.

The next thing James knew, he was hanging upside down in the air by his ankle, locked in a vicelike grip. He quickly took stock of the situation as the blood began rushing to his head. Fred was on the floor struggling to breathe from laughing, yet again. Clip was doubled over in much the same predicament. Preston Lynch was at the back of the class, leaning against the wall, looking for all the world as if it were Christmas already, and Cat was sucking on the end of a sugar-quill that she had produced from somewhere.

It wasn't until a very angry-looking Professor Meadows stepped into his field of view that he realised what must have happened.

Oh dear.

'ProfessorImsorryitwasanaccident-'

'Zip it Potter,' she growled. She hoisted him up even further, and his robes tumbled down around his face.

Several gasps, a multitude of squeals, and a good helping of laughter followed, topped off by a very Fred-like 'Bloody hell!'

James quickly found himself right way up again, and steadied himself against a desk as his body tried to work out what was going on.

Everywhere he looked around the classroom the girls looked absolutely mortified. James' heart sunk faster than an out-of-control Wronski Feint. Today had been the day he had set all of his trousers out to be cleaned by the House Elves. _All_ of his trousers. He would admit to himself he had maybe been a tad lazy with laundry since arriving at school.

He had thought he would get through the day with only his underwear on beneath his robes.

He had apparently been sorely mistaken.

'Oh, Merlin's shrivelled-'

'Detention Mr Potter!' Professor Meadows practically shrieked. 'Go and sit down, and for all our sakes _close your bloody legs!'_

The resounding peals of Fred's laughter mocked him all the way back to his chair.

Mercifully, the bell rang shortly after, and James hurried out at the front of the class. Fred quickly caught him up.

'I'm not telling you a secret passage,' James started before Fred could get so much as a word in. 'I know that was you that put something up my robe. That's not fair.'

Fred held his hands up defensively.

'Ask me no questions, and I shall tell you no lies. Consider us now equal for you not telling me about the eighth floor adventure.'

James rolled his eyes, and made a mental note to not ever get on Fred's bad side for anything major.

Students were beginning to file out of classrooms to either side of them, and the pair stepped quickly through a side door that James knew led to outside, in order to avoid the suddenly-busy corridors. He made towards a treed courtyard, with Fred in tow. Fat grey clouds hung low and cumbersome in the sky, and an icy northerly wind whispered promises of rain in their ears.

'We are definitely going together one time soon,' Fred insisted. 'Just the two of us, not that weird Rain girl. She gives me the willies.'

James sighed heavily, keeping his head down against both the wind and Fred's incessant nattering. It took him several steps before he realised that Fred was no longer alongside him. He turned to see Fred, hanging back, his mouth agape, pointing mutely up at the Great Oak that dominated the courtyard.

Four bodies, their heads covered in hessian sacks, hung by their necks from a low branch.

James' world seemed to tilt, his vision darkened, and then colours became far too harsh. He was breathing hard, too hard, great heaving lungfuls of air still unable to supply his brain with sufficient oxygen to think. He stumbled backwards; he wanted to run, to flee this place, this unnatural scene and its atrocities. There was but a small part of him that held him there; a part of him that screamed _'help them'_ at the top of its lungs. No matter that their bodies were still and surely lifeless, the way that they swung lazily in the breeze.

With sheer horror James took one lurching step forwards, then another. He was unable to stop that small, defiant part of him that strove to help, to do something, _anything._ Wild thoughts were whipping through his head. He had to get them down, before anyone else would see them. _Why?_ He had to run, far away, so that no one would ever know he was here. _Then why are you still walking towards them?_

'James!' Freddy cried, momentarily rescuing him from the enfilade of irrational thoughts. 'We need to get a teacher. What if someone sees us here and thinks that we did it?'

'Just help me get them down,' James heard himself say, his voice was lethargic and hollow. He could barely recognise it for his own. 'They need to lie down. They must be tired.'

Fred grabbed hold of James' robes and tried to tug him backwards. Some part of James noted that Fred was shaking, his complexion a sickly grey colour. He was looking everywhere except at the grisly figures adorning the tree.

Slowly, inexorably, and against Fred's now-frantic struggles, James drew his wand, aiming for the rope above the closest of the figures. The tree creaked eerily in the wind, the rope answering in kind. The figure spun around until it would have been face to face with James, had the sack been removed. The body was completely still, robes fluttering fitfully, the sack flitting in and out as if in time with shallow breathing‒

 _Breathing._

'Fred!' James yelled. 'They're breathing, look! Help me cut them down, quick!'

The pulls on his robes ceased, and James heard Fred utter a curse that would have made even his mother blush. The pair of them drew their wands up together‒

'Potter, Wealey! What in Merlin's name do you think you are doing! What are those‒ _Those are students!_ Get out! NOW!'

James was knocked clean off his feet by Professor Longbottom in full flight. With a wave of his wand he severed the ropes and levitated the students gently down to the ground. A great, maned, silver beast burst forth from the end of his wand and shot off back towards the school.

The commotion had gathered a crowd by now, and ripples of gasps were radiating outward from where three figures stood next to four prone bodies.

'Professor, they're not – they're still‒'

Neville rounded on the two boys, who both flinched back from the fire that raged in his eyes. James felt a genuine fear; here was a man who stood toe-to-toe with Voldemort, a man who killed the last of the Seven Horcruxes. Here was a man who numbered among the Hundred, and his rage was turned upon them.

'What have you done? Students – my students…' his voice trailed off, but his icy gaze remained fixed up James, who was frozen beneath it, unable to speak.

'They're still breathing!' Fred blurted out. James sagged in relief, the pressure that had been crushing his chest under Neville's scrutiny finally released. The professor's gaze swung wildly to the four figures in green-trimmed robes. Sure enough the sacks still fluttered in and out in response to shallow, ragged breaths.

They quickly found themselves shoved out of the way again, as Professor Longbottom whipped his wand and the sacks flew off.

The crowd around them now had filled the majority of the courtyard. A circle was left around the figures beneath the tree. Four unmoving and Professor Longbottom running his wand over them, muttering spells under his breath faster than James could follow. Eventually, one by one, the students' eyes shot open, and they gasped in great breaths of air. One of them sat up, looking around wildly, trying to crawl away from Neville in a frenzied panic.

The gathered crowd cheered in a great uproar, the relief plain to all present.

Professor Longbottom was crouched down now, whispering to the four students, who all still looked a little wild-eyed, but otherwise unharmed. James and Fred were fidgeting a little on the spot, James wondering if they could just slide a few steps back and fade into anonymity among the ranks of onlookers, when a ripple stirred amongst them.

Where there had excited cheering moments ago, followed by expectant silence as they watched Neville treat the victims, there were now nervous whispers. James saw students shuffling and jostling each other, eager to make way for whomever it was that was forging through their ranks.

With a feeling of dread James watched as Headmistress McGonagall strode forth from the sea of students, the sheer force of her regal façade seeming to part them before her like so many leaves scattered in the wind.

Her stolid gaze flicked across James and Fred where they stood, and took in the scene before her in a matter of seconds. Momentarily James saw a light flare in her eyes, so hot as to consume all in its path, to leave chastened any caught in its wake. In that moment he knew he stood before a witch who had duelled with Voldemort, one who had held him down, despite any hopes of success, all for the love of her students. In that moment James saw, and he was humbled.

Eyes down, James stepped back as she stalked across to Neville. They conversed rapidly in hushed tones, and Neville handed her a crumpled sheet of parchment. She spun to face James and Fred then, and he felt the full weight of her regard settle upon him.

'Potter, Weasley, with me. Now.'

James was unable to even return Fred's horrified gaze, the icy spear that was lanced through his chest was keeping him from doing anything but following mindlessly behind the Headmistress, head bowed.

This was it, they were getting expelled for sure. What had been written on that parchment that she had been given? How had they been framed? Who would even want to do such a thing? James immediately thought of Silk and Deep-Voice, but he had not heard from them since their visit in the infirmary. Why would they attack now? And why in this manner? Who were the four students that they had attacked?

These questions were fruitless, and he was able to provide no answers, only quick-march along, staring at the bottle-green hem of the Headmistress' robe.

They ascended the spiral staircase leading up to the Headmistress' office, and the great polished oak doors swung inward of their own accord. James allowed himself to marvel at the room momentarily, it was likely the first and last time he would ever see it, if he were about to be expelled.

It was a cavernous, circular space, with a domed glass ceiling. The sky had begun to weep tiny raindrops, which cascaded down the side in runnels. The walls were decorated with hundreds of portraits of old Headmasters and Headmistresses, many of which were snoozing soundly in their frames. Books lined every inch of wall space not taken up by portraits; Cassie would think it the best day ever if she were allowed in here. He was too far away to read any of the titles, but the crumbling, ancient-looking tomes must certainly have held many a secret of lost and powerful magic. One feature which caught James' eye was a large, curved desk which ran along one side of the room. It was made of dark wood, and beautifully decorated with scrollwork all down the legs. Atop it sat dozens of photographs, all moving about and waving out cheerfully. As they passed by it he saw a photo of his dad, hugging his mum in front of smoking ruins of the castle, there was Aunt Hermione crying tears of joy, and of relief, with Uncle Ron trying to wrap her up in an awkward hug. Standing in the centre of the desk was a photo of a kindly, old wizard with flowing silver hair, sparkling blue eyes, and half-moon spectacles. Albus Dumbledore.

James let out a yelp as a summoned chair swept him up from behind and brought him into the centre of the room. The headmistress stood in front of her great claw-footed desk, studying them with cool regard.

James opened his mouth, to try and explain himself, to try and plead their case, anything, but Fred beat him to it.

'Headmistress, please–'

'Seventeen years,' she overrode him. She didn't have to raise her voice, but Fred fell quiet instantly, and all thoughts of begging disappeared from James' mind. 'Seventeen years it has been since a Potter and a Weasley have walked these halls together. For seventeen years we have had _peace._ And now, not six months into the year and a brazen attack on my students, and who do I find at the heart of it? Why young Masters Potter and Weasley, no less.

'I find myself in a despairingly familiar situation, gentlemen, as I am sure you are aware. Potter, you even fidget like your father, sit on your hands!'

James rushed to obey.

'Now I don't for a minute think either of you two were the ones guilty for attacking those poor students.'

James and Fred both let out sizeable sighs of relief.

'I should like to think that through my extended years and experiences, that I have earned a modicum of wisdom, though it would hardly take even that to recognise that two first-year students who can hardly levitate a feather would be able to overpower four sixth-years and leave them hanging from a tree as if dead.

'You will be pleased to note, that the students in question will suffer no lasting ill effects from this attack. They were simply stunned, levitated into the air and held there by magic. The ropes were there simply for shock value, and at no point did they take the students weight.

'Nevertheless, this remains a grievous attack on my students, and the message is very clear. This was a hugely popular method for killing traitors and informants at the turn of the sixteenth century. I did not for a second believe that this was a random attack.

'My suspicions were confirmed when Professor Longbottom handed me this letter. This is why I have requested your presence gentlemen. Tell me, what do you make of this?'

She handed James the scrappy parchment that he had seen her take from Professor Longbottom. He took it with shaking hands, and together with Fred, they pored over its contents.

 _Potter, we were under the impression that we had made ourselves clear the last time we met. The same arrangement stands for Weasley. Keep liaising with these types and we will be paying you another visit. We have been accepting, up until now, but our patience has worn thin. This is not a game; the stakes are higher than anything you can pay._

 _R.U.S.T will fall_

James shared a look of pure confusion with Fred. Liaising with these people? He had no idea who they were. He had never seen them before, he was sure of it. R.U.S.T will fall? It was clearly meant as a threat for the sponsor groups from the upper years. Why drag him and Fred into it? Why mention them directly in the letter? How had they known they would find the students? The list of questions were endless.

The Headmistress was simply staring at them, a single, questioning eyebrow raised.

'Erm…' James began, 'I don't know these people, Headmistress. The ones in the tree, I've never seen them before.'

'Me neither,' Fred chimed in.

McGonagall pursed her lips.

'Well, what about those who left the note? They mention you both directly, and imply that you have met before Potter. What is the meaning of that?'

James swallowed, hard. He was hoping it wouldn't come to this. He knew that Silk and Deep-Voice operated beneath the noses of the Professors, without their knowledge. If _he_ was the one to alert the Headmistress to their presence it would very likely be him up in the tree next time.

Maybe next time it wouldn't be pretend, either.

'I… I don't know, Headmistress,' James stammered, 'I don't know any of these people. They are all Slytherin aren't they? I haven't met them before.'

He knew he was repeating himself now, but it was all he trusted himself to say. His fear of Silk and Deep-Voice was nigh on crippling.

The Headmistress leaned in to study him then, and he squirmed beneath her gaze. Old though she may have been, she still exuded waves of latent power, and James felt himself shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

'Very well, Mister Potter. You are both free to leave. Rest assured, that we will be investigating this matter most thoroughly, and should you _remember_ anything of import, I implore you to seek me out personally.'

The pair got up hurriedly, James had to stop himself from doing a little bow on his way out. The doors opened for them, and they rushed towards the staircase. As they swung shut behind the two boys, James heard a voice come from behind the Headmistress' desk.

'You get better at that stare every day, Minerva.'

'Well, I did learn from the very best.'

At the bottom of the stairs they encountered a very concerned-looking Holly. She gave a squeal when she saw them, and looked as though she was about to faint.

'Did she-? Are you-?'

'We're not expelled,' James replied, smiling broadly. Holly gave another squeal and hugged them both.

'I wasn't worried,' Fred countered, lazily brushing his fingers on his robes.

James gave him a friendly shove. He had seen Fred's face, no one was supposed to be _that_ grey. Not if they weren't worried.

Holly's relief was quickly replaced by concern, as she pulled them aside through an unlocked door. Another broom cupboard. James lit his wand to provide some light, and sat down on an upturned bucket.

'The whole school has been talking, while you were in there,' Holly pre-empted their quizzical looks, 'the ones who attacked the students, it sounds like the same people who cornered you and Cassandra in the Hospital Wing, James.'

'It is,' James cut in, 'they left a note.'

'A lot of the older students have been talking,' she continued, 'and I was sort of listening in. It was an attack on R.U.S.T. According to the older students, those four were the strongest R.U.S.T team of all of them. The Enchantress and Shade alone are legends among the older students. They are all terrified.'

'Wait,' interrupted Fred, 'The Enchantress? Shade? Who are these people, and why don't they have proper names?'

'They do,' replied Holly, 'but I don't know them. They are students, Slytherins. Shade knows the castle better than anyone here, better than anyone who has ever been here apparently. He knows _every_ secret passage and shortcut, everything. They say he comes and goes as he wills, disappearing if you so much as look at him for too long.'

James thought he might have met someone that fit this description, once.

'The Enchantress is possibly the best Arithmancer and Runecrafter that has ever come through Hogwarts. She is the apple of the school's eye, she has won awards all over the _world_ for her work. They even had her studying the _Heart_. She's better at Arithmancy than Professor Martin already. She's picked to be the next lead Curse-Breaker at Gringotts, and she _isn't even eighteen.'_

'That sounds like a team I wouldn't want to mess with,' Freddy said gravely.

'Exactly, and now this has happened, loads of the other R.U.S.T teams are going to disband straight away, they were holding a secret meeting about it. They are terrified, F.A.R.T is all up in the air now; no-one knows whether they are going to have sponsors or not, when the dust settles.'

'What about us?' James asked her, although he already had a suspicion as to what her answer would be.

Holly looked at him, her face illuminated in an eerie light from James' own wand.

'James, those four were _our_ R.U.S.T team.'

He nodded sombrely. They had mentioned working on a project, the last time Holly met with them. Had they been nearing completion? If Shade and the Enchantress were as good as their legends perpetuated, then it was likely something game-changing. Significant enough to pose a threat to Silk and Deep-Voice's corrupt gambling racket? They obviously thought so.

Now it looked like they would have to win F.A.R.T all by themselves.

But Holly was not done talking.

'All the R.U.S.T teams that are still left are throwing their support behind our group. They're still in competition, that hasn't changed, but they have a common enemy now. Something that has been hanging over them for years now. They are going to fight it.

'They are starting a war.'


	10. Chapter 10

James arrived for his detention with Professor Meadows on the Wednesday following his Stinger-to-the-Bottom incident, ready to be handed some gruelling manual labour, or write six million lines. It wasn't often that a first year shot a teacher with an errant spell and lived to tell the tale, after all.

Instead he was told to sit down opposite Professor Meadows at her desk and wait, while she marked their essays. He fidgeted with his buttons, and shifted about uncomfortably as the minutes stretched on.

The Professor would move her lips slightly as she read the text, and every so often her nose would crinkle as she read something that was outright funny, or perhaps an answer that was so terribly wrong that it was amusing. Her short, brilliant-blonde hair hung down around her face, and would often touch the parchment as she leant in to write comments in the margins of the paper she was marking.

After what felt like hours, but was probably only about thirty minutes, she put her quill aside and leaned back in her chair, studying James intently. He squirmed a little harder under her scrutiny.

'So,' she eventually asked, 'have you heard much from Teddy lately?'

James paused at the strange topic of conversation. Why would she want to know what Teddy was up to?

'It's ok; we're friends, he and I. We were at Auror training school together before…' she gestured forlornly to her leg. 'I haven't heard from him in a while. Is he… is he still dating your cousin?'

'Oh,' said James; he was quickly realising that witty repartee was not his strong suit, 'he er… no, he isn't. They had a big fight over summer and broke up, I think. Well, they never show up to family occasions together anymore, so I guess that's broken up, right?'

'Yes,' she replied, 'that sounds like it to me. Poor Teddy, that's terrible.' Her smile hinted that maybe she thought otherwise.

James shrugged; Teddy had seemed to move on just fine. He had a flat in the city, and Harry was keeping him very busy with Junior Auror postings. He had hardly seen Teddy over the summer.

The conversation lulled. James flicked his eyes to the door, wondering when he would be allowed to leave. This didn't seem like much of a detention; he had expected it to be a nightmare, like his one earlier in the year where Professor Ellfrick had him cleaning the potions classroom with a toothbrush. He supposed that this was less arduous, if considerably more awkward.

He noticed Zoe – Professor Meadows – building up to say something. It was hard to think of someone who looked younger than many of the students, and still retained many of their mannerisms as a Professor. She reminded him more of an older Dominique than one of his teachers.

The teacher in question was currently twirling a lock of bright blonde hair around a pink-lacquered nail. She leaned towards James and when she spoke her voice was halting, uncertain.

'Does he ever mention me at all?'

Oh dear. James knew what that question meant. He had heard it in those muggle movies that Lily loved to watch. It was a _relationship_ question. If James knew one thing, it was that he knew absolutely nothing about relationships. Did Zoe want one with Teddy? He almost gasped aloud; were they already in one? Was that why Teddy had broken up with Victoire?

'Er…' James knew that if he told the truth, that no, Teddy had never specifically mentioned a Zoe Meadows to any of the family that he could recall, then the professor would be terribly upset, and likely spend a lot of time eating chocolate and ice cream. If he lied and said yes, then they would be in a relationship. Or at least that's how it worked in Lily's movies.

Zoe was looking across at him expectantly, one hand frozen amidst her hair, her lips parted slightly.

'Yea, sure he does, all the time.'

What had he done?

Zoe closed her eyes momentarily and let out a long, slow breath. A smile was writ plainly across her face, a healthy flush colouring her cheeks.

For the first time James saw her shed her mask of despondency, and she looked like she had hope, that there was happiness to be found for her. For a brief moment, James couldn't find a single part of himself that said he had done the wrong thing.

When she opened her eyes again they were alive, reflecting glimmers of golden lamplight as if they were aflame.

'That's all James,' she sighed, 'your detention is over. Run along back to bed before curfew, and thank you James. I mean it.'

They both stood up and James returned her glowing smile as best he could, before turning and practically fleeing towards the door. He nearly made it before she called him back.

'Oh, James, has Teddy mentioned what he will be doing for the Christmas holidays?'

Internally, James groaned.

'He er… he mentioned that he would be coming here, to the castle, for the Auror training sessions on the eighth floor.'

Her jaw dropped and glossy lips formed a perfect 'O' shape.

James turned and ran before things really got out of hand.

The following weekend was a Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff Quidditch match. The Gryffindor team were required to attend, but those on the practice squad were exempt, and so James found himself in a nearly-deserted Gryffindor common room on Saturday morning, surrounded by F.A.R.T members from all four houses. They were in the midst of somewhat of a crisis meeting, called by Clip and Cassie in order to assess the damage of the recent attack on R.U.S.T.

James sat in the centre of the largest couch, with Clip on his left and Cassie, who had professed no real interest in Quidditch whatsoever and thus forgone watching her house team play, on his right. The rest of the students were draped across furniture or simply sprawled out on the floor in front of them. Cat was rolling back and forth across a plush rug, playing with a tiny mouse that she had produced from somewhere. Rain was absent, Cassie said she hadn't got out of bed all day. Freddy was sitting at the back of the group, tossing a ball into his bag, which was proceeding to burp it back out at him every time. James shuddered, he hoped the day would never come when he had to reach into that bag for any reason.

Cassie was taking notes on a sheet of parchment attached to a clipboard, of all the teams who had lost their R.U.S.T sponsors. It was as Holly had predicted, many of the older students had indeed disbanded at the threat of danger from Silk and Deep-Voice. Less than a third of the original groups were still active, if Cassie's list was anything to go by.

There had been no further attacks throughout the week, but the air was thick with tension in the corridors, many students were walking around with their wands out, and almost all were travelling in groups. Unease was permeating the entire castle, and James couldn't shake the feeling that it was about to boil over.

'So six teams remain with active R.U.S.T sponsors,' Cassie was saying to the group at large, 'those teams belong to James Potter, Clip Wallace, Fred Weasley, Emry Sameer, Kattala Lovegood, and Preston Lynch.

'At this stage we must assume that there will be no help given to teams outside of those six, until such time that this altercation is resolved.'

That was met by a round of grumbles from the teams not listed. Many of them had been very much in the running to win F.A.R.T and get a shot at the Mystery Grand Prize. Most of them were ahead of James' team.

'At this stage, what we know is this,' Clip continued, speaking over the unhappy mutterings, 'the people who attacked those four students were the ones in charge of the Hogwarts gambling racket. They control all the betting on Quidditch, the Sorting Ceremony, everything. They don't like R.U.S.T interfering with F.A.R.T club, because they think it encroaches on their territory, and it messes with the results, if one team has a secret plan that their R.U.S.T sponsors provide them with and they win, the people who bet on that team make a lot of money, which the bookkeepers don't like at all. They see R.U.S.T as basically a corruption, it is match-fixing using a loophole in the rules, but it isn't _their_ corruption, or _their_ match-fixing, and so they won't stand for it.'

'So what can we do?' Gemma Lewis piped up. 'Should we tell the teachers? They will catch them, won't they? I kind of liked F.A.R.T club the way it was before.'

There were murmurs of assent from the gathered students, and several heads nodded.

'Nothing has changed regarding F.A.R.T club,' Cassie replied, 'it's still the same, you simply no longer have older students handing out answers, you have to work it out on your own, the way it was meant to be.'

'That's easy for you to say, you still have _your_ sponsors. It's not fair now, we should all get some. I think you should share your secrets with all of us!'

James had hoped it wouldn't come to this, as all the gathered first-years instantly fired up in a great raucous clamour; those from teams with a sponsor defiantly defending their privilege, while those without railing against this cruel twist of fate.

'Guys, stop, STOP!' James shouted. Voices died down; he stood up from where he was seated, and began pacing among the group. 'You're going about this all wrong, don't you see? These guys, whoever they are, they are the real enemy, not each other. Look at the older students, look at R.U.S.T, are they sitting around a common room bickering right now? I don't think so, I bet they are out there planning on how to take these guys down. We should be doing the same, sitting here working _together._ The most important thing isn't who wins F.A.R.T, it is working as a team, to keep everyone safe, and have fun.

'If any of you want to quit F.A.R.T that is fine, no one will care or think you are a coward. These are scary times now, and we have somehow been caught up in the middle of a fight that is much bigger than us, so if we have any chance of coming out of it unharmed, we need to band together, and co-operate.'

'If you're so keen on working together Potter, then tell us what your R.U.S.T team has been working on, we all know that that lot that got attacked were your sponsors!'

James spun to face the source of that voice, of course it would be Preston Lynch.

'That's not what I meant–' James began.

'Of course it isn't. You won't give up your precious secrets, but you try and make us do the same? That would be just like you, Potter. You strut in here thinking that the rules are different for you, because your father was famous. Thinking you are _better_ than all of us. Trying to give us a big rousing speech to fight off the scary men, like you are King of the First-Years. Is that what you want? I bet that's what you think you are, isn't it? Lord Potter, better than all the other first-years.'

James, who had ceased his pacing, and was standing atop an armchair looking down at the rest of the students, suddenly realised that that was _exactly_ what it looked like he was doing. To make matters worse, there were more than a few nods at Preston's outburst, and a few angry faces turned his way.

'You shut your big mouth, Preston Lynch!' Cat snapped from where she was lying. 'James is trying to be our _friend_ , not a stupid King. I bet that's what you would want, isn't it?'

'Keep quiet, you stupid, blonde–'

BANG!

Preston Lynch went flying backwards to land in a heap atop a group of Hufflepuffs who were squished onto another of the couches.

James looked around to find the source, and saw Freddy with his wand levelled, a curl of smoke dancing up out of the tip.

By the time he looked back to Lynch all hell had broken loose.

Scores of first-years who had been getting progressively more angry and scared throughout the course of the meeting, now had an output for their emotions, and they joined in with a reckless zeal.

Wands were drawn on all sides, and spells were flying through the air in every direction. House-mate shot down house-mate, friend against friend, there was no method to their madness for it was fuelled by fear, and so was a beast untamed.

James whipped out his own wand, and had to duck a jet of purple light coming right for him. The air was crackling with magic, he was simply trying to stay out of the way, he had no intention of adding to the chaos. He searched for his friends, he saw Freddy launch a full-body tackle at Preston Lynch, and they tumbled out of sight behind a couch. Cat was cornered by the fireplace by two wild-looking Hufflepuffs, who were shooting anything and everything out of their wands, and were probably the source of a lot of the madness.

He made to jump down from where he stood on his chair and help, but a spell hit him square in the chest, and he stumbled backwards, tripping over the back of the chair and falling down behind it, wedged fast. He tried to wiggle out, but a strange feeling was radiating outwards from where the spell had hit. He gave a laugh – he couldn't help himself, it was a funny feeling – and before he knew it his whole world was consumed by an enveloping assault on his senses, as the helplessness of the Tickling Charm overtook any hope of escape.

All thoughts of the fighting abandoned, James Potter laughed the battle away like a buffoon, wedged upside-down behind an armchair.

Hardly the act of a would-be King.

Some time later he felt a tug on his feet, and he emerged, very red-faced, and still suffering from the occasional burst of hysterics, from behind the chair. Fred held him down while Clip cast the counter-charm. The sensation drained out of his body, and he took a deep, calming breath.

The common room looked every part a battle zone, and likewise his friends looked as if they had been on the front lines.

Fred was sporting an impressive black eye, and a trickle of blood was flowing from his nose. Clip was naked from the waist up, with several scorch marks decorating the waist of his trousers. Someone had tied Cat to a table leg by her hair, and she was weeping softly as Cassie attempted to undo the horrendous knot.

James held his head in his hands, defeated. This was supposed to have been a meeting to bring them all together, to get them to protect each other and work against Silk and Deep-Voice. Instead they found themselves wrapped up in petty bickering and jealous guarding of secrets. Who knew what the outcome of this disastrous meeting was going to be. One thing, however, was certain.

The poison of F.A.R.T club had sent its roots yet deeper.

After the high-energy excitement earlier in the month, the rest of October faded with nary a protest, and made way for Halloween. James, together with his friends, had tried repeatedly in vain to bring the first-years back together, but the damage had been done, and the wounds, quite literally, were still too raw.

They travelled in packs now, all of them. James never went anywhere without at least Fred and Clip by his side. He had even put on hold his exploring at nights, as he knew that he presented too easy a target. Rival F.A.R.T teams refused to help each other in classes, or openly sabotaged each other's work. The resultant house point loss due to their lack of co-operation in classes was felt across the board, with everyone losing over a hundred within the first week. Tensions ran high within the houses themselves, as Victoire had sat down all of Gryffindor on that Sunday morning and given them a fiery talking-to about acting like children.

For all her passion, James didn't think that it had sunk in at all.

So it was on Halloween when James found himself seated at one end of the Gryffindor table, surrounded closely by his friends. They had called Cassie over from the Ravenclaw table to join them. Rain, who despite their numerous arguments, was still usually attached to Cassie by the hip, but had not made it out of bed yet again today, and so she had no protection at her own table. Very few people would dare hassle Cassie with Rain around.

The group ate their fill and more, chatting happily among themselves for all the world as if there wasn't a vicious Hogwarts turf war hanging over their heads. Fred had managed to levitate a carved pumpkin onto his head, and was trying to charm the mouth to move when he talked. Cat thought this was the most hilarious thing ever, and was currently doubled over in James' lap, wracked by fits of laughter. Cassie was doing a lot of eye-rolling, but whenever she thought nobody was looking James caught her smile. He revelled in the happy simplicity of the moment, for this was what his year should have been like from the very beginning.

Eventually, after Fred manage to implode his pumpkin, covering himself in orange goo, the group decided that it was time for bed. James waddled off, arm in arm for support with Cat and Clip, who had also eaten far too much. As they lingered at the base of the Grand Staircase, contemplating the obstacle as one might a mountain, or a cliff face, James heard a voice call his name.

'James, Cassie, over here!'

It was Holly, she was standing with Tristan MacMillan near the stairway down to the dungeons. James' heart sunk, he had a good feeling that he knew where this was heading, and wasn't sure that he was in the right state to be dealing with it right now.

'Guess we'll see you guys later,' James mumbled to the others, as he struggled over to where Holly and Tristan were standing.

Holly ushered them down the stairs towards the dungeons. James shot a quizzical look at Tristan, but he simply shrugged. Cassie was groaning softly and rubbing at her stomach.

They turned down a side corridor that was clearly not well-frequented. Only one torch in three was lit, and there were signs of damp on the walls. No portraits nor vases in sconces decorated this passageway, and dim light flickered in time with a steady drip of water from somewhere nearby.

Holly led them to a concealed door, which James would have taken for another innocuous part of wall if it hadn't been pointed out. Though, in his defence he was hardly in a state of heightened alert. Heightened dessert, Fred might have said. James would have proceeded to smack him.

The door slid aside at Holly's coded knock, to reveal an equally dingy room behind. It appeared to be a disused store cupboard, and barely provided enough room for the eight of them that were now jammed in. Mouldy shelves lined the wall, in some places entirely collapsed where the wood had given way to the damp. A single lantern swung precariously from a rope in their midst.

One of the four figures who were already in the room nodded to the others, and the two largest shuffled out around them to stand out in the corridor, presumably guarding the exit. A wise choice to pick those two, James mused. The space seemed much less confined in their absence.

'Welcome,' said one of the two remaining figures. This voice belonged to the shorter of the pair, the male. He was wiry slim, with close-cropped dark hair and a flighty look in his eye. From what Holly had said earlier in the week, this was Shade. He flicked his wand and five rickety stools appeared. James took one gratefully, and eased himself into a position that provided his bloated stomach the least amount of discomfort.

'Many refer to me as Shade, but my name is Nero. This is Wren.'

 _Huh_ , James thought. He had figured someone with the pseudonym "The Enchantress" would have a real name a little more intimidating.

Nero leaned back in his chair until only his eyes glinted out menacingly from the darkness, and Wren stood up to speak. She had strong, high cheekbones, with dark hair and brows. Her almond eyes were alive in the lamplight, and their fierce gaze held James' breath caught in his chest.

'You are obviously aware of the attack on our persons this week past, and the obvious implications that it carries. There are people who do not want us to do what we are about to do, and those people will go to great lengths to enforce their will upon us.

'I speak of course, of the Lenders. The Capitalist, would-be Oligarchs who have spent the past seven years worming their way into our pockets and our coin purses. They are widely known as bookkeepers, gambling agents, and loan sharks. Hence the name, Lenders. What is less publicised, is the depth that their rotten roots truly extend into the foundation of the Hogwarts student body.

'They are the heads of every illicit activity that occurs within the castle walls. You want a batch of Firewhiskey smuggled in from Hogsmeade? You pay a little extra money and you go through a Lender. Forgot to do that important assignment due tomorrow? You pay a little money and go through a Lender. Need to teach another student a lesson, but don't want the whodunit getting back to you? You get the picture. They own it all, run it all. They take money, invest it, and pay the students out dividends. They have set up an entire Morgana-cursed bank inside of Hogwarts, something to rival even Gringotts.

'As you know, we have invoked their ire by interfering with F.A.R.T and trying to take our fortunes into our own hands. Evidently their particular breed of Capitalism is not of the free-market variety. That is all you need to know of the "why". As for the "how", well they have recently moved against us in a big way, mostly things behind the scenes, things that you wouldn't notice from the outside. They have frozen all of our liquid assets, and threatened us with their disappearance should we not co-operate. This was the biggest reason for the majority of the R.U.S.T teams disbanding, people become very easy to manipulate when you have your hands on their… money.'

James let out a long, low whistle. Wren was using a lot of words that he didn't really understand. That very likely meant that this was a much bigger problem than anyone had anticipated.

'None of this is your concern, however,' Nero sat up straight and continued the dialogue. Wren leaned back on the shelves and studied them all in ominous silence. 'That is our fight, and rest assured that we are fighting it. We ask only one thing of you, and that is that you convince the first-years to look out for each other. This fighting is fast spiralling outside of anyone's control, and you are the easiest targets, the most likely to get hurt. It is imperative that you work together, for it has become more than just this competition now, and if you can't put aside your rivalries to fight it, then there is little chance that you make it out the other side unscathed.'

James swallowed, hard. He looked over at Cassie, she looked equally ill. Some of that was likely from the feast, but he thought he could safely assume that she was thinking along the same lines as he was; he had gone a long way in achieving the exact opposite the week before, with his speech at the Crisis Meeting in the Gryffindor common room. Would he be able to rebuild the bridges that had been burned that day? There was really little option, the way these two were talking.

'You are the most public face of this war, Potter. If the school sees the first-years, and F.A.R.T flourishing, then all will be well. If they see infighting and dissent, then the vultures will swoop, and we can guarantee nobody's safety. See that you tend to this matter, Potter. It will have a big impact in the days to come.'

James nodded mutely, feeling incredibly out of his depth. He was very much looking forward to getting up into bed by now, and hiding from all of this mayhem for a few, short hours. He supposed a hug wouldn't go awry either, at this point.

'First thing,' Wren took over, 'is to _look after your money._ The Lenders have a code; they will never steal so much as a Knut, so they have _some_ values, at least. But do not give your money to _anyone._ Even if they offer to hold your coin purse for a moment, in their eyes that money is now theirs, and you will not get it back.

'The ringleaders only ever appear as two people, both apparently male, but they have agents everywhere, in _all_ year groups. We don't yet know how many students they have working for them, or even if they have any agents within R.U.S.T, so until we do, be sparing with your trust. Most importantly, never speak of the content of our meetings to anyone outside of this room. Am I understood?'

The four first-years nodded together, all wishing that they could be anywhere else but the centre of a blossoming flower of war.

'Finally, we come to the real reason that we gathered you here this evening.' Wren smiled at this point, as she drew a carefully folded sheet of parchment from a compartment within her robes.

Nero waved his wand again and a small table appeared in the centre of the room, pushing them up uncomfortably against the shelves. James wriggled into a better position to get a close look at what she was about to show them. This was surely it, the project that had brought down the full wrath of the Lenders. He was about to see something worth starting a war over, he was about to be in possession of that very object.

He shuddered involuntarily.

With careful, loving motions, Wren smoothed the parchment out on the table in front of them. She pressed down folds, and spread out the edges so it lay almost perfectly flat. She drew an elegant, intricately carved, pale wand from within her robes and pressed it to the sheet.

Like lifeblood flowing through veins, thin spidery lines began to spread outwards from her point of contact. An image came to life before them, as lines became shapes, and shapes became objects. By the time the image was complete, James found himself leaning over the table, holding it in a white-knuckled grip, too nervous to speak, for fear of shattering this surreal moment.

It was a map. No, it was _the_ map.

It had to be, this was exactly the way his father and Uncle Ron had described the Marauder's Map, a complete outline of the castle, every single passage and corridor, labelled in tiny, flowing handwriting. As he watched he saw a stairway shift up on the third floor, allowing entrance to a previously blocked-off corridor. It was beautiful, it was perfect.

Well, not entirely.

'I understand that a map such as this has existed in the past,' began Wren, looking down with a hint of longing at what must have been some of her finest work, 'but all attempts to locate it have so far been unsuccessful. The knowledge that has gone into this has been acquired over both of our almost six years of schooling. This map shows every passage and room that we have knowledge of, and every pattern of moving staircase and shifting corridor has been imprinted in.

'As I am sure you will notice, there are no people marked on this map. To do that would require access to the Heart, which I had been given in a limited capacity, and always under strict supervision. At no time was I ever given the opportunity to access the Heart in that capacity, and add some of its magic to the map.

'We have, however, added a new feature, that may be of use to you especially.'

James was barely comprehending what Wren was saying, this was too surreal. He was about to be given a new and improved version of the Marauder's Map! His mind was spinning into overdrive at the possibilities. F.A.R.T club was now theirs to lose. Suddenly another thought occurred to him.

Was _this_ the reason he felt that he needed to find the Heart, the reason that it called directly to him? Was there some kind of latent magic left over from the bond between the first Map and the Heart that had chosen him to reforge it? Was this map destined to be the James Potter Map of Hogwarts?

He supposed he would have to think of a better name than that.

His attention was drawn back to the events at hand, as Wren was talking again.

'Just tell the map where you want to go, press your wand to it and… there we are, a path will be illuminated.'

James was trying very hard not to squeal in excitement right now. There was _no way_ anyone would have anything even approaching this impressive, that Mystery Grand Prize was theirs already.

Wren took them through the rules for using the map, and stressed that its existence was the highest order of secrets. She showed them how to fold it, and how to banish the image when they had finished using it. James was bouncing in his chair, thoughts of overeating forgotten, ready to take it out exploring that very night, when she came to the last rule of the Map.

'Because of the need for secrecy, we will be keeping the Map with us, hidden securely until the morning of your next F.A.R.T club. If this falls into the Lender's hands, there is no telling what damage they could cause. Understood?'

James felt like the bottom had dropped out of his stomach, and he sullenly nodded his assent. He supposed he had been a little optimistic in thinking that something as powerful as this would just fall into his lap, no questions asked. Why would the older students just hand it over to them at all? He supposed that they would be asking for it back as soon as F.A.R.T was over as well; it was hardly something to just be given away as a gift. He felt a little silly for his momentary bout of sensationalism.

Their meeting wrapped up quickly after that. James was now well and truly feeling ready for bed, and as they were ushered quickly out the door into the gloomy corridor, he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. He turned to head back the way he came, when Wren's voice caught him and held him back a moment.

'By the way, Potter, your kindness in desiring to help us when we were… incapacitated has not gone unnoticed.'

He just nodded sleepily and staggered off in the direction of his bed.

November melted away with the last of the mild weather. Harsh winds and dark evenings rolled in, to match the dark moods within the walls. Outright violence was still being held at bay, but students were noticeably snappish, and many a friend group was becoming splintered by the difficult times.

James' attempts to reconcile the first-years had gone no better than the now-infamous Crisis Meeting, and together with Cassie he had all but given up. He was barely able to get Fred and Clip to be civilised when it came to F.A.R.T club rivalries, and the rest of the student body seemed to be spending far too much time giving Preston Lynch their collective ear.

The Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match in the first week of December was fraught with angst and unrest. The ill-will between the two teams had only grown since the first highly controversial victory, and the fact that both teams had won two games apiece since then, meant that it would be a match for first place on the ladder.

James trudged out to the stadium, his head bowed against a frigid northerly, when he saw a scuffle break out outside one of the gates. He and Freddy steered well clear, and made for the Gryffindor changing rooms, but he heard voices floating out over the commotion.

'Get out of here sixth-year, this is Lender territory!'

'Shove off, R.U.S.T Gambling Services pegged this ground while you were busy drooling over those poor fourth-year Ravenclaws, get lost!'

'Just wait till the bosses hear about this, you lot will be the next ones swinging from a tree!'

The voices faded as the wind picked up, and James shook his head. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em, he supposed.

The actual match itself was an incredible let-down, especially for the Gryffindor supporters. Not five minutes of the game had passed by when Odette Mansfield swooped in and stole the snitch from beneath Diana Fairbourne's nose, handing Slytherin a one hundred-fifty to ten point win.

The game would have ended there, if Will MacDougal hadn't sent a late bludger straight at Odette, moments after she caught the snitch. Her guard down, she didn't see it coming, and it collected her in the back of the head. The poor second-year girl tumbled lifelessly to the ground fifty feet below, saved by the charms built in to protect students from harm should an event such as this occur.

This started a violent exchange between the Slytherin captain, Spinks, and Ryan O'Flaherty, with Will in the background protesting his innocence. Wands were drawn, and shortly the pitch was flooded with irate students from both houses, joining in on an appalling melee, which, according to Headmistress McGonagall later that evening, had resulted in twenty-three admissions to the Hospital Wing, and seven four-match bans handed out to various players on the teams.

It wasn't only the fact that they had lost that had James in such a dark mood that night at dinner, he was unable to wrap his head around this innate desire to fight, to argue, that pervaded every single year group at Hogwarts. He didn't know if it was the rising tensions as a result of the F.A.R.T club, and the impending turf war that had everyone on edge, or if these were merely convenient proxies for the students to show their true colours while hiding in the anonymity provided by faction that they supported. Whatever it was, it needed fixing before anything more sinister could occur.

As it would happen, he had the opportunity to meet with a pair of the instigators that very next day.

He was making his way along the seventh-floor corridor towards the portrait of the Fat Lady, on a rare instance when he had been travelling alone, when he felt something punch the wind out of him from behind. The next thing he knew he was waking up in an abandoned classroom, with two faces peering down at him, familiar only in the way that they shifted and changed beneath his scrutiny.

'Hello Potter,' Deep-Voice growled. He was the figure on the left, currently the shorter of the two. 'We were hoping to run into you again, before next week's little F.A.R.T meeting. As I'm sure you are aware, we have been rather more active than usual, lately.'

'Indeed,' Silk drawled, stepping up to push his face into James'. 'But that is above your concern, and I digress. We have seen an influx of money still pouring in for you as a hot favourite, Mister Potter. Something is making the students believe in you, I can only assume it is those foolish sixth-years that have been messing around, playing at mentoring you, and trying to oppose us. Word in the corridors is that they are winning, too, but we seldom listen to such mindless chatter.'

The pair of them paused for a second, to both have a quiet chuckle.

'The short of it is this, Potter. You are our number two favourite, behind the skinny Wallace boy, and that girl everyone thinks is Dumbledore reincarnated. Them, we will deal with separately. As for you, we say, ponder this: Should you finish outside of the top three teams in F.A.R.T club tomorrow, say perhaps fourth place, you will by no means be out of the running for the Mystery Grand Prize. As well as this, you will make us considerably wealthier than we currently are, and in times of war, the value of money is irreplaceable.

'Think on this also: We hear that your short friend can't swim, and we would just hate for her to fall into the Great Lake one day, say, right out in the centre with the Giant Squid. Or perhaps the long-haired one, I hear she is terrified of spiders, and we happen to know a picnic spot in a particular forest that she would _certainly_ adore.

'The choice is yours, Potter. Remember, we aren't out here fighting you. There's room enough in this coming war for us on the same side. After all, someone has to take over this empire when we move on.'

James became very familiar with the ceiling above his bed that night, as he did little else but stare at it, the cogs of his mind whirring ceaselessly.


	11. Chapter 11

Dominique had thrown them all a curve ball that very morning, as the students gathered together in the Entrance Hall for the second First-year Acclimatization Readiness Training, shuffling and fidgeting en masse in a collectively vain attempt to generate some warmth in enervated limbs. A chilly winter breeze was snaking under the doors, and slithering its curious fingers up many a robe.

There was little chatter among the gathered students; even Dom was partaking in the gloomy mood. She had forgone giving either James or Fred a hug that morning, merely eliciting to cast a loose wave in their general direction. James wasn't too miffed about that arrangement; the fewer times he was forced face-first into his cousin's bosom, the happier he thought he would be.

Perhaps it had been the ongoing hostilities throughout the castle, and their obvious provenance in Dom's most prized creation, that had dampened her affable spirit, but she seemed dull and lifeless as she explained the rules to them that morning.

'Each team of four must nominate one member to be the Captain. Prior to the start of the Hunt the Captain must surrender his or her wands to myself or Professor Longbottom,' she gestured nowhere near where he was standing, 'for the duration of the Hunt. The trophies that you must find have been modified, and they can now only be activated by the Captain of each team, who must hold them in one hand and offer the phrase "Find Me" as per usual.

'Now for this Hunt, you will be permitted to cast Body-Bind curses _only_ at each other, with the goal being to incapacitate another team's Captain. If a Captain is hit by a spell, our map will inform us, and you must bring the Captain back here to the Entrance Hall to be revived, before you may continue. Keep in mind that only the Captain can activate the trophies, so if you wish to continue the Hunt this is necessary.

'Should another member of the team be hit by the spell, you may choose to leave them where they lay, bring them back for revival, or, for those select few who are able, you may attempt the counter-curse. You may not transfer the wand of a fallen team member to the hands of the Captain, if we find out that this has occurred, that team will receive zero points for this round.

'As a reminder, the team headed by Clip Wallace is currently in first place, with fifty points, followed by Preston Lynch's team on forty, and Emry Sameer on thirty-six. The full leader board is, as always, available to view in the Great Hall.

'Finally, there will be a five minute buffer after the Hunt begins where no spells may be cast at all, in order for teams to be on their way before the chaos breaks out.'

As the scrolls were passed around, James' team formulated their plan of attack: Cassie was nominated as Captain, as Holly and Tristan had both out-scored her in Professor Meadows' target practice test by four to two. The three of them were to roam through the castle in a tight group, with Cassie putting their directions into the newly-acquired Map as they went, Holly and Tristan running guard duty.

Since Cassie and James weren't bickering over some nonsensical triviality, she had been fully focused on solving the riddles from the moment Dom had started the Hunt, and they had been one of the first teams out of the Hall.

Once they rounded a corner and were out of sight of the other teams, they crashed in through a side door into an empty classroom. James whipped the Invisibility Cloak from his bag, and threw it on over himself. He was their "ace in the hole" as Holly had called it; he was tasked with running about beneath the cloak, picking off the opposition Captains from places unseen, and disappearing again before they even realised what had hit them.

It was an incredibly bold tactic, for sure, as if he was to get hit by a Body-Bind, he would likely be frozen in place for at least the duration of the Hunt, and his team would have no support, and be down one person, if they got into a real duel. High risk, high reward, Tristan added, and James agreed.

The team then whispered hasty farewells, before James set out alone, a solitary Agent of Chaos.

He had anticipated it being a struggle, and it surely was, but he hadn't imagined that it would also be such unbelievable _fun._

The sheer panic in the eyes of the students after he ambushed an unsuspecting party was the greatest reward. He had sent Emry Sameer back to the Entrance Hall not ten minutes into the Hunt, as he had foolishly walked around a corner at the head of his team. James, tucked in behind a door that stood ajar, sniped him square in the chest. His team scrambled around, wands out, for a good minute, before sullenly levitating their fallen leader back the way they had come. He heard their voices echoing down the hall, saying that one of them must have shot him by accident. James had almost burst out laughing at that, which would have well and truly blown his cover.

Right now, following at least a half hour of stealth and espionage, he was attempting to regain his breath. He had stood on the hem of his cloak just as he had been about to fire a Body-Bind at the Captain on Cat's team, a skinny, dark-skinned Ravenclaw boy. Instead of getting off a spell, he had stumbled, cursed in a way that his mother would have most certainly not approved of, and righted himself directly in front of Cat, in the form of a disembodied arm and half a leg.

He was no Lender, but four against one were odds that he hadn't wanted to take on, so he had fled blindly, finally managing to lose them in this little-used section of the third floor.

Now there was a sobering thought: the Lenders. Their message was still ringing clear in his mind, finish fourth, or they come after his friends. Deliberately losing was not a concept that was found in the mind of anyone with the last name of Potter, particularly not when Ginerva Weasley was their mother. The issue was that protecting his friends was _very_ high on his list of priorities. He couldn't bear the thought of someone tossing Cassie in the lake, or dragging Holly out to the Forbidden Forest, all because he was too proud to just _lose._

He was completely torn.

And that was all without even taking his loyalty to R.U.S.T into consideration. Nero, Wren, and their two musclemen, who had thrown so much support behind them. It had cost them so much in both Galleons and in their personal security, as the Hangings had shown. They had gained a target on their backs for helping James, and they were willing to take the risk. It would be poor repayment indeed for James to go and intentionally lose, after all that they had done for him.

His train of thought was interrupted as he heard a group of voices approaching down the corridor. He hastily stood up, brushing himself off and adjusting the Cloak to triple check that it was covering all of his extremities. As the group approached, he heard a voice that he recognised: Clip.

James couldn't believe his luck. If he was able to knock Clip's team out of the running then his own team had a real shot at jumping up the leader board, and it would keep them in the chase for the Mystery Grand Prize. He held his breath as figures appeared at the end of the corridor, waiting, watching to see who their Captain was before he took the shot.

The four students were arrayed in a loose triangle, with a diminutive Hufflepuff boy that James recalled was named Michael Tring, in the centre. His lack of wand, and the way the others were arrayed defensively around him marked him out clearly as the Captain.

Clip was on point, with Rain to his left, the side closest to James. A Slytherin first-year called Georgia Braithwaite stood watch on the other flank. Their wands were levelled, and James saw Clip scanning the path ahead of them, his eyes flicking back and forth in search of any kind of movement or hint of an ambush. This wasn't going to be an easy takedown.

As they approached up the corridor their voices came into focus, and James heard something that he certainly did not expect from the reigning F.A.R.T champions; arguing.

'Will you _shut up_ Michael,' Rain snapped, 'if you don't quit your whimpering I will Bind you myself, and be done with this stupid competition.'

'Put a sock in it, Rain,' Clip snapped, 'you were the one that said you wanted to play, even though you are sick, so quit complaining about it. You are just making it worse for everyone.'

'I'm not the one who went and ran out into a corridor _head first_ and got hit!'

Clip stopped in his tracks, about ten paces up the hall from James' hiding spot. Michael didn't notice, and walked into Clip's back, colliding with a squawk.

'Look Rain, I think I speak for all of us when I say we have just about had enough of you being such a… so _mean_. We get it, you're tired and sick, but you didn't have to come do this today, and you certainly don't have to carry on like that. If you can't be civil to the lot of us, then I've half a mind to leave you behind.'

'Oh,' she scoffed, 'so you are the team Captain now all of a sudden, are you? Think you can just boss us around, tell us what to do. If it wasn't for your stupid idea to go to the kitchens first, Michael would have never got hit, and we would still be in the lead. You've been hanging around Potter too much, thinking you are the boss of everyone, well I've had it with you, and this stupid club, I'm leaving by myself!'

James was finally shocked into motion as he saw her stride away from the group. Clip called out to her, but she just angrily stuffed her wand into her robes and kept walking, approaching James' spot. He scowled at her from where he was hidden, "hanging around with Potter?" the way she had said it, like it was something so distasteful, made his blood boil. She made it out like she had been listening to Preston Lynch, which stung James more than he would care to admit. He had tried so hard to help everyone, to get them to work together, but for every act of kindness his work engendered, Lynch was there to slander him behind his back, effectively undoing everything that he was working for.

And now it seemed like Rain was in league with him, too.

He felt his grip tighten on his wand, his nails digging sharply into his palms. He hadn't realised that he was shaking with anger. Rain was someone whom he called a friend, whom he _had_ called a friend, and here she was bad-mouthing him behind his back, like some Lynch lackey. His anger reared up as she came abreast of him, striding past in that arrogant, straight-backed way.

At that point he lost control of his emotions, pure rage taking over. He stood up and in one fluid motion, shed himself of the Invisibility Cloak. He levelled his wand directly at Rain, watched as she spun to face him, an almost comical look of shock splashed across her face. She made to raise her hands, for what James didn't know, as he spoke in an icy voice.

' _Petrificus Totalus!'_

Her arms snapped down to her sides, her legs sprung together, and she toppled over backwards, stiff as a board. She came down hard on the flagstones, red-gold hair pooled about her head like so much blood. James smiled down at her wickedly. His anger at her, at Lynch, at the whole, stupid first year and their stubborn refusal to accept his help, was still firmly in control of his actions.

And then the lights went out.

Dense, inky blackness wrapped itself around James, cutting off all sources of light. It seemed to cling to him as he moved. He desperately threw the Cloak back over his head, and made to beat a retreat in what he was fairly sure was the opposite direction to where he had last seen Clip. There was only one thing that James could think of that would cause darkness this complete, and Clip's R.U.S.T sponsors must have been able to source some of it: Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.

He took one step backwards, before his foot kicked something soft, and he tumbled to the floor. Rain. He was only able to watch, relieved, as a deep orange jet of light zipped through the blackness overhead, right where he had been standing only moments before.

Footsteps were advancing from the far end of the corridor towards him, Body-Bind curses were shooting over his head, the owners of the wands obviously still unaware that he had fallen down.

He saw only one option ahead of him; he had to try and outrun the Darkness, as he was just as blind as his targets while they were all still within it, he lost all advantage that the cloak provided. Before he pushed up and made a run for it, he felt for Rain's face, and leaned over her to the point where their lips were almost touching. In the darkness, fuelled by spite and anger, he smiled an evil smile down at her, and whispered:

'Watch me, Rain, as I take over the world.'

With a wicked laugh at the irony of using her own line on her, he pushed up off the ground and dashed off at a crouch down the corridor. Spells were flying over his head like a box of Weasley fireworks, the magic was charging the very air around him to the point where the hairs on his arms were standing on end. He felt something hot pass over the top of his head, and almost let out a yell when another jet of light shot past his left shoulder.

Clip had used too much Darkness Powder, surely. It must have been his entire stock, as it seemed to stretch on forever. He wasn't aware that the corridor had even been this long. Footsteps and voices were echoing about within the Darkness, and as he tried to stretch the distance between them he could no longer tell where they were coming from. One second he heard shouts from behind, then they seemed to be to his left, then directly in front. His back was aching from his awkward running position, but he dared not straighten for fear of being collected by a stray Body-Bind curse.

He was gasping, trying to force air into his lungs. Anger had long since subsided, with fear taking its place. He thought he saw a shadowy figure moving right behind him, and cried out, tripping over an undulation in the flagstones. He stumbled, landing hard on his shoulder. He felt his wand fly out of his hand as his left arm went numb. The Cloak slipped off his head and shoulders, barely staying attached where he had tucked it into his robe. He tried to keep his momentum by rolling, and half-way made it back to his feet, crashing out into blinding light.

He looked up, still trying to right himself, gather the Cloak about him and locate his wand, all at breakneck speeds. He barely registered three robed figures cresting the staircase ahead of him, before he collided hard with one of them, sending them both careening off down the stairs in a squealing, flailing tangle of robes and limbs.

They came to a rest halfway down the stairs and James fought frantically with his opponent. He tried to pin down her arms, prevent her from going for her wand, as he had no idea where his own had fallen. She hissed and squirmed, but he was bigger, and eventually trapped her down, straddled on top of her, her arms locked to her sides. She struggled one last time, before giving a defeated whimper. James brushed the hair out of her face to see–

'Holly?'

'J-James, is that you? I can't really see your face.'

Holly was lying, pinned beneath him, her face glowing. Her chest was rising and falling with each tiny breath. James, suddenly very aware how they were positioned, hastily shifted off of her, and slid out of the Cloak. Cassie and Tristan were at the top of the stairs, framed by the writhing, shifting darkness in the corridor behind them. Voices still echoed out of it, seemingly much fainter than they should have been.

Tristan had his wand levelled at James. Thank Merlin that _he_ at least had realised who it was, or else James might have been the next casualty.

Like the bursting of a midnight bubble, the Darkness suddenly winked out behind them, and there stood Michael, Clip and Georgia, the latter two with their wands out, facing down a wandless Cassie, and an unprepared Tristan.

James had read a few wizarding stories in his youth; Aunt Hermione would not have had it otherwise, and he knew that it was at times like this that the hero often noted that time seemed to travel in slow motion. James could now well and truly attest to this _not_ being the case, as Clip and Georgia fluidly lowered their wands and let loose simultaneous bursts of crackling orange light.

James could only watch in horror, as twin beams shot straight towards Cassie, tracking as if to his her square in the chest. She brought her hands up in the same futile motion as Rain had, and James grimaced, having played out this scene from the other side only moments ago.

At the moment before contact, James barely able to watch, he felt something shove him from behind, and he was knocked flat onto the stairs again, cracking his chin against the unforgiving stone. He bit down hard onto his tongue, tasting blood. Above him his vision was obscured by a frantic mass of dark hair and robes, but he heard a body hit the floor, and knew Cassie's fate was sealed.

He made to push himself up, and accept his own fate, when his fingers brushed against something that rolled beneath their touch. _His wand._ He made a desperate lung for where it lay at the edge of the staircase, and sprung up into a crouching position, wand lowered.

It took him a good few seconds to process the scene in front of him.

Cassie was standing, very much free to move, her hands still shielding her face. Clip and Georgia had identical looks of shock and were staring down at the gold-trimmed robes of Tristan MacMillan, who, at the last moment, and unable to cast a spell in time, had _dove in front of Cassie_.

He had taken a double helping of Body Bind, and now lay stiff an unmoving, but their Captain was, as yet, unharmed. Holly was scrambling to reach the top of the stairs to help, and James quickly followed suit, nearly tripping over the hem of his robes in the process. He dashed up the steps two at a time, trying to hold his wand steady to get a shot around Holly's backside.

Clip and Georgia were quick to recover, and they took in another collective breath, this time to finish off Cassie, and any hopes James would have had at getting his hands on the Mystery Grand Prize. They fired before James could do anything and helplessness took him yet again. If only he had–

' _Flipendo!'_ Holly cried, and for the second time in as many F.A.R.T gatherings, Cassie was sent flying through the air, this time to come down with a crash, tangled up in a suit of armour.

Two jets of light shot through where she had been only seconds before, and fizzled lamely against the stone walls. James finally saw his chance, and sprung up the last of the stairs, leaping onto the landing. Before he had even hit the ground he had felled Clip with an expertly placed shot, square in the chest. Georgia, unsure of who to aim at, set her counter-fire between the two of them, and James came up out of a roll, and finished her off at point-blank range. She keeled over to lay next to Clip, embarrassment and anger warring in both their eyes.

'Please – I surrender!'

James jumped, he had forgotten entirely about Michael, who had been hiding very poorly behind a tapestry. James wasn't sure if it was the fact that his feet protruded from below it, or the distinctly human-shaped bulge which gave it away more.

He felt Holly tense next to him, ready to fire, but he waved her down, and sent her over to see to Cassie. He knew what she was thinking, take out Michael now and they remove one of their biggest rivals. They wouldn't be able to finish this Hunt, and so receive zero points, effectively knocking them out of the race for the Prize. Had it been Preston Lynch instead of Clip, James wouldn't have hesitated. He almost let Holly take the shot, for what Rain had said earlier, but he couldn't bring himself to do it in cold blood.

This was what he had been fighting for, for the past months, and now he had a chance to show them all that he _meant_ it. To show them what it really was to work together, to look after each other, because if they didn't, then nobody else would.

'Come on out, Michael,' he called, 'we won't shoot, promise.'

The boy stepped out from behind the tapestry, his arms raised in the air as if in surrender. He was quivering slightly, and let out a whimper as his eyes fell on his two fallen teammates.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Holly knelt over Cassie, trying to shift heavy pieces of armour off from on top of her. _Wrap this up quick James, we've got us a Hunt to win._

'All right, Michael, you are free to go. You can take one team member back down to Professor Longbottom, or Dom, and get them to revive them, and then carry on the Hunt. If you do that, you still have a chance at finishing, and getting some points. I think they would all thank you for that. Just think, you would be the hero that kept their chances at winning the Grand Prize alive.

'As much as I'm sure we both don't like it, I would suggest Rain. She may be moody as an old Hag, but she can cast the counter-curse to the Body-Bind, so you don't have to make the trip with the others back down to the first floor.

'Now, if you'll excuse me, with you lot out of the running, we have a first place to attend to!'

Michael just looked up at James like he had been speaking Gobbledegook for the last minute. James sighed, and turned away to help Holly with Cassie.

'W-why?' Michael stammered.

James turned back to him, a stern look on his own face. He saw the small boy flinch back slightly, as if thinking James was about to change his mind just to be cruel, as if he were every bit the figure that Preston Lynch painted him out to be.

'You were there, at that meeting in the Gryffindor common room, right? The one that turned into a big fight?' Michael nodded. 'Well I meant what I said that day, we have to work together now. We have to protect each other, because there are people much bigger, much scarier, and much meaner who want to control us. They don't care how we feel about it, or who they hurt along the way, as long as we serve their needs. The only way that we make it through this year all unharmed is if we start throwing aside our stupid fighting and _cooperate._

'That's what I'm doing here, a show of good faith, pay it forward, however you want to call it. Just remember this, and tell your friends, maybe they'll listen to you. We are going to show the Lenders that they aren't the Gods they think they are, and that nobody messes with these first years and gets away with it.'

By now Michael was smiling and nodding a bit stupidly. James shooed him off, and he dashed away down the stairs, before remembering his instructions, and coming back up with a sheepish grin to get Rain.

James turned back to his ailing team, to see Holly pulling Cassie to her feet. She had a nasty graze on her left cheek that was oozing blood, and a big tear up the side of her robes, but was otherwise unharmed. She was busy admonishing Holly, saying something about how if she had wanted to fly she would have joined the quidditch team, but her heart wasn't in it, and she gave Holly a quick hug, before they turned their shared attention to Tristan.

James suddenly realised that Cassie was the only one who was able to cast the counter-curse, yet she was without her wand, being the team Captain. They hadn't thought that one through particularly well. He thought that they might be able to finish the Hunt without Tristan, but after the sacrifice he had just made, it would have left far too bitter a taste in his mouth for that.

His fears were allayed as he saw Cassie casually pick up Tristan's wand from where it lay, and lazily cast the counter-curse.

'Did Cassandra Featherstone just _break the rules?'_ James gasped.

She favoured him with glare number three. That one seemed to be reserved solely for him these days.

'I shall forever remember this day, James Potter, as the first time that you used my proper name.'

Before he could come up with what he was sure was going to be an incredibly clever retort, Tristan made his way to his feet shakily, and Cassie leapt on him, nearly knocking him back down in a crushing hug.

'Thankyouthankyouthankyou,' she squealed.

Tristan just sort of patted her back, a little awkwardly. Time stretched on, and she still hadn't let go. Now he thought of it, James was the only one on the team who _hadn't_ got a hug yet. That hardly seemed fair.

After what must have been at least five minutes, James thought, she broke it off, and stared up at a very flustered Tristan Macmillan.

'Father often says that the quickest way to a lady's heart is to go _out of your way_ for her,' he said drily.

Cassie blushed a brilliant shade of red and slapped him gently on the arm, but James noticed her little smile, and the fact that she stuck a little closer to Tristan for the remainder of the Hunt.

James stayed close to his team from that point onwards, never ranging out further than a single corridor or staircase in front. He kept an eye out for any potential ambushes, or any teams that they may run into unawares. Between his scouting, and the incredible power of the Map guiding them between locations, through previously unknown passages and shortcuts as if they were perfectly commonplace, they met nobody else.

The lack of action, and the fact that he was isolated from the group beneath the cloak, gave James plenty of opportunity to reflect on his actions of a few moments ago. He had few doubts that he had done the right thing in letting Michael go free; it was just the sort of opportunity he had been hoping for in order to show the other first years he really _did_ want to make a difference.

His uncertainty lay in the outcome, in that they had taken down their main competition for first place. It was widely known that the combination of Clip and Rain in the same team was a potent one. Clip was unparalleled at solving the puzzles that they were handed, and Rain's knowledge of the ins and outs of the castle was second among first years to probably only James. And she had somehow achieved that without the help of an invisibility cloak to help her sneak about at nights.

With the 'Dream Team', as Freddy called them, now out of the running, there were few who would be able to stand up to the power of James' map. They were coming up on the last location, an abandoned room in the Charms corridor that was colloquially referred to as 'The Come and Go Room.' Not for any similarity it held to the Room of Requirement, but rather for some less-than-savoury practices that were oft undertaken within its dusty confines.

James' main concern was now that they were almost guaranteed a top-three finish; exactly the thing that the Lenders had warned him against. He had tossed and turned all through the night, trying to decide what to do about their threats, but had been unable to come up with a solution. If he helped guide his team to a victory here today, they may end up having to pay a much steeper price than this single, small win was worth.

He chewed on his lip as he popped his head around a corner, and waved his team forward. Surely they would meet another team before they returned to the Entrance Hall. He would have an opportunity then, he supposed, to intentionally lose the game, perhaps let Cassie take a Body-Bind curse. His team would be furious, sure, but he couldn't bear the thought of seeing their bodies strung up beneath a tree, swinging gently back and forth in the wind. He shuddered at the very thought of it.

 _Could_ he lose the game on purpose, though? The concept was just so alien to him. Competitiveness was in his nature, seeking the thrill of winning was the reason he played Quidditch, was part of the reason he had signed up for F.A.R.T. It was another conquest, another victory that he would be able to call his own, something to further distance himself from the shadow of his father.

He stood guard as Cassie ducked past him and into the Come and Go Room, flanked by Tristan and Holly. Victory or Danger? That was the question he was now facing, and he was no further to coming to a conclusion. He couldn't trust himself to make the right decision in a moment of panic. Heck, he didn't even know _if_ there was a right decision.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, and willed it all away.

Sadly, when he opened them again, it was all still waiting for him.

The group trotted off down towards the Grand Staircase, the lasts of their locations crossed off the list. James hung back a bit, lost in his own endless spiral of melancholy confusion.

A large part of him wanted the decision to be out of his hands, to be made for him. If someone snuck up on them from behind, they could easily hit him with a Body-Bind, and then it would be three against two. Surely Cassie would go down then. He slipped out of the Cloak, hating himself even as he tucked it away inside his robe.

They came to the final landing on the first floor. James had a clear line of sight down the stairway to where Dom stood, directly ahead of them, next to a life-sized version of one of the tiny statues that they had been hunting throughout the morning. All they had to do now was get Cassie, their Captain, to touch it, and they had won.

He still wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Holly let out a squeal and pointed mutely at the statue, Tristan shared an excited glance with her, and all three of the others picked up their pace for the final dash down the stairs. James cast a single, longing glance back along the first-floor corridor. If ever there was a time for someone to show up and take them down…

Resigned, he trotted off down the steps behind his team, who were chattering excitedly about the prospect of first place, and where they would land on the leader board.

They weren't even half way down the flight of stairs when several things happened at once, ripping James' attention away from his conflicting thoughts.

Firstly, he heard shouting drift up into the Entrance Hall from the grounds outside, his team stopped momentarily to search for the source. He saw, through the great vaulting windows, two teams coming together in the courtyard outside, and the way they were dashing frantically toward the castle meant that they must have also been heading for the win.

Even as they stopped to watch for only a second, he saw three students fall to well-placed Body-Bind curses. The remaining five approached the doors to the castle, and James recognised Cat, from her height. Nobody else in first year was _that_ tall. A second figure, at the head of the other team, was running in a way that was by now painfully familiar to James.

Preston Lynch.

He felt a tug on the sleeve of his robes, and looked down to see Holly, already two steps below him, urging him onwards with the rest of the team. He made to follow, but at that moment, a third group burst forth into the Hall from the entrance to the dungeons, and all eight of them instantly froze.

It was Fred's team, also with eyes on the winning statue.

James' eyes were bulging. Here were three teams, all with a chance to get to the statue before them. Could he work it so that they came in fourth? He saw Fred raising his wand up at them. Was there a way he could maybe hit Cassie from behind, and blame it on a stray spell under the chaos of a shootout?

Could he live with himself if he did?

A particularly loud squeal rang out from the courtyard outside, and James watched in horror as Preston shoved Cat bodily off an embankment and into a row of hedges. James swore under his breath; that was a long drop, if he had hurt Cat…

It was in that moment that James' mind was made up for him. These were his friends, the only ones who had stuck beside him when the rest of the year group shunned him, refused to believe that he wanted to help them. They had alienated themselves within even their own houses, because they were willing to stand beside him, and he was here contemplating betraying their trust, because he was scared that they wouldn't be able to look after each other when this Hunt was all said and done. The very thing he was trying to perpetuate, he had been unwilling to participate in.

He was done with running, hiding from the Lenders and their shadowy scare tactics. He would fight them, together with his friends, because they refused to be afraid. They were not pawns to be moved about a game board at the whim of some twisted megalomaniacs.

A jet of light shot towards them, and he grabbed Holly by the back of the robes, snatching her in against his body. The spell whizzed through here she had stood, and she looked up at him through her eyelashes for a second, her breathing short and shallow, before he pushed her back down the stairs and yelled after her, 'run!'

Preston was now the only one left standing outside. His entire team lay scattered about him, and only his Captain counterpart from Cat's team was left, cowering in fear from the larger boy. James scowled in disgust, and ducked another spell sent his way. They were pinned down here on the stairway, being battered by the entirety of Fred's team. Preston was sprinting up through the doors, James watched in horror as nobody else noticed him. His team was under too heavy fire to stand up for the shot, and Fred hadn't seen him at all.

In a moment of what some would call bravery, and other, Cassie likely among them, would refer to as "Gryffindor Stupidity" James leapt up from where he was crouched, and vaulted over the bannister, leaping to the floor some six feet below. He landed and tried to roll, but came down hard on his ankle, and felt something pop. He gave a yell of pain, and stumbled up to his feet, desperately trying to get his bearings.

He was sheltered on his left by the colossal staircase, upon which his team was still desperately fighting. He heard a cry from near the dungeon entrance, which must have been one of Fred's team go down. _Keep on fighting, guys._

Preston Lynch was mere metres from the statue now, a wide grin splitting his face. He had a hand out, as if anticipating touching it and scoring victory already. James tracked him with his wand, just like in the Defence lesson, he slowed his breathing as much as possible. It was now or never, he held his breath in a vain attempt to still his racing heart, and cried.

' _Petrificus Totalus!'_

His spell shot from his wand at exactly the same time Preston made a leap towards the statue. James watched in horror, he hadn't been aiming for that. His arm outstretched, in mid-flight, a near impossible target to hit.

Yet James had managed it.

Likely more through good luck than good management, James' had fired the spell a little low, and its adjusted trajectory clipped Preston in the hip as he made his dive. James let out a guffaw as he watched his rival stop in mid-air, all of his momentum gone. He crashed to the floor inches from the base of the silvery statue, his eyes boring into James with as much hatred as he could muster.

If the situation had been any less intense, James would have keeled over laughing.

He peeked his head around the corner of the staircase, to see Fred standing defiantly in front of his Captain, a tiny Hufflepuff girl with dark brown pigtails. He ducked and weaved between spells from both Tristan and Holly, and even as James watched, he saw the latter take a spell to the face, and fell with a scream of anguish.

He lined up Fred carefully, and prepared to let off another shot, before a cry from outside caught his attention. _Cat._ He had forgotten all about her. In a moment of panic and without a second thought, he limped off outside. If she had been hurt in that fall, he would _really_ make Lynch pay.

With a grimace, James tucked his wand into his robes and eased himself down the steps to the courtyard, keeping his head down to cover himself from Fred, who had enough on his plate trying to defend Tristan's ever-growing maelstrom of curses.

On the second-to-last step he looked up, and directly into a pair of bright blue eyes, shimmering with a delightfully mischievous twinkle. He barely had time to fumble for his wand before Cat's voice cried ' _Petrificus Totalus!'_

He felt like something had punched him in the stomach, all the wind was knocked out of him. A slow ache was pulsing through his body. He strained, tried to move his hands, his feet, anything, but the spell held fast. He saw Cat and her Captain dash past him, and the rest of his Hunt was witnessed through sound alone.

Some time later, following a series of shouts, curses, and cries of "Petrificus Totalus!" Cassie's head appeared in James' field of view. A moment later, he felt the bonds dissipate, and he was free to move. He made to stand up, but his ankle gave way beneath him, and Tristan had to lunge to keep him upright.

James looked around at their faces, hoping what he saw in them was just his imagination.

'So?' he asked tentatively.

'Second,' Cassie sighed, defeated, 'Holly went down just before your little hero stunt to save Kattala. Tristan hit Fred with an excellent shot, but by then Kattala was already at the statue. So, second place it is.'

It was a disappointment, James would have to admit, but there were far worse things than losing to Cat, and for himself the greater victory had been the one he had fought over his fears of the Lenders. He looked around at his friends, standing together with smiles on their faces, and couldn't help but wrap them all up in a hug.

'Oof,' grumbled Cassie.

'Eee,' squealed Holly.

'I've been subject to more hugging today, than a week at home with my mother,' drawled Tristan.

The four of them nearly collapsed as a single, awkward group from the laughter that ensued.

Back inside Dom was busy reviving the remaining members of Fred's group. She ruffled Fred's hair and told him how proud she was of his third place. She seemed a bit more cheery now, so James decided it might be a good time to slip off to the hospital wing, before she decided to get huggy.

Cat peeled away from the group of first-years to walk with him. He ended up leaning heavily on her as they climbed the stairs together.

'That was a very brave thing you did back there,' she said conversationally, 'but why did you do it? I mean, you could have won, and _then_ come looking for me. You didn't have to…'

She trailed off as they reached the landing, and turned to look at him.

'I'm not sure,' James replied truthfully. He didn't know why he'd done it, the same way he didn't know why he wanted to help Wren and Nero when they were hanging from the tree. Something in him just took over, and drove him to do these things. He supposed it wasn't always the best option, but he knew he couldn't just walk away from something like that.

He didn't know how to vocalise all those feelings, so instead he looked up at Cat earnestly.

'Because you are my friend, Cat,' was all he said. _That's what friends do._

The look of surprise and delight she gave him in response to that statement was almost enough to wash away the pain of having fought so hard and only got second place. Almost.

They walked the rest of the way to the hospital wing in silence together, Cat humming happily under her breath, every so often breaking out into a little giggle.

She certainly was a strange girl.

When they reached their destination Madam Petheridge was all _tsk_ 's and admonishing half-statements, but she shooed him to a bed and Cat out the door, before bustling off to get her wand. James limped over to the bed she had pointed to, and made to lower himself gingerly down. He noticed something sticking out from underneath the pillow, a scrap of parchment.

He tugged on it, and his heart froze when he saw what was written. They were only five words, but they chilled him to the core. They were terrifying, they held his attention, and he couldn't tear his gaze away.

 _We will collect our debt._

 _A/N: Thank goodness James finally gets it together and manages a respectable finish in F.A.R.T club! Also, for those of you who are interested, the F.A.R.T club scoring works as follows: First place, 50pts, Second place, 40 pts, Third place, 36 pts, Fourth place, 32 pts, Fifth place, 30 pts... From there down to 15th each place gets 2 fewer points than the one before, down to 15th, which gets 10 pts. 16th-20th get 5 to 1 points, respectively._

 _Current F.A.R.T standings, after two Hunts are as follows:_

 _First place: Cat's Team, 80pts_

 _Second place-equal: Clip's team AND Fred's team, 68pts_

 _Fourth place: Emry's team, 66pts_

 _Fifth place: James' team, 62pts_

 _Preston is down in tenth place on 41pts_

 _I have a full excel spreadsheet and everything for this. I love me some stats._


	12. Chapter 12

The final week of school before the Christmas Holidays was crawling by for James, largely because he spent most of it looking over his shoulder, waiting for a group of shadowy figures to spirit him away to pay his unspecified "debt." It was somehow even more terrifying in its vagueness.

He had memorized all of his friends' schedules, and was taking roundabout routes between his own classes just for a chance to catch sight of them, and give him the peace of mind that they were ok. He had been too scared to tell them of the note, in case they were angry at him for endangering them, all for a chance to win a silly game.

So it was that he eventually found himself on Friday morning; finally the last day of term had arrived. He was walking from breakfast to his double-Defence class, which was with the Slytherins. He had made sure to pick up Holly on the way, and the two of them were walking slightly ahead of the rest of the group, chatting in low, conspiratorial tones. James had a firm grip on his wand beneath his robes, and was scanning ahead for any shifty-looking students that may have been coming their way.

They passed a cracked window, and a gust of wind whipped in, snatching at loose clothes and scarves. James pulled his robe tighter around himself, and Holly did the same. Snow was piled up on the outside of the panes; it had been sleeting all week. They were in the heart of winter now, and fires crackled all throughout the castle. Torches burned a little stronger in their brackets in an attempt to stave of the darkness and the cold.

The fact that all of the first-years were getting around in gloves, scarves and extra undergarments was tribute to the futility of that gesture.

What was the use of magic, James grumbled, if you couldn't even use it to heat up your home? He couldn't wait to learn a few warming charms. Fred had tried one on his own underwear that morning, and had nearly burnt down the entire first-year dormitory.

'It's a shame we had to give back the map,' Holly sighed, 'it's an excellent piece of magic. I bet it must have taken a lot of work to make.'

'Hmm,' James mumbled in agreement.

'Mapping the castle alone must have taken most of Nero's time at Hogwarts. There are just _so many_ secret passages. I suppose we will never really know if he got them all, will we?'

'Mhmm.'

'I wonder how they worked out the patterns of all the moving staircases, too. Surely they didn't just sit there and watch them; that would have been the most boring job ever. Maybe Wren found that information out when she was working on the Heart. That would make sense.

'Uh-huh.'

'I wonder what the Heart looks like, I bet it's pretty.'

'Yeah.'

'James Sirius Potter, I think I'm in love with you.'

'WHAT?!' James jumped in shock. He spun around to see if anyone else had heard, but they were all out of earshot. He felt blood rushing to his face, his ears burning. 'You, what? But we– You– We're only–'

Holly was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, giggling madly and clapping her hands.

' _You_ weren't listening to me,' she accused. 'I just wanted to get your attention. It is rather rude to walk someone to a class and then not saying anything but "Mmm" the entire time.'

That was a fair point, James supposed. He had been staring out the window, thinking about how the weather would affect tomorrow's Quidditch match. The second one of the season between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. The Eagles had cruised past the Badgers in their previous meeting, two hundred twenty points to thirty. They likely had the best keeper in the competition, a fifth-year boy named Aster Ogleby. The fact that Hufflepuff had scored even three goals was a bit of a miracle.

This weather, though, would make for a different game altogether. James couldn't wait to see his first, true winter match.

'I was so listening,' he countered, 'you were talking about counting the staircases. And you said my heart was pretty, whatever that means.'

With form that Cassie would have most certainly approved of, Holly reached over and smacked him on the top of the head with her book.

'I could find out where they hide it, you know,' she said, 'the map, that is. I'm good at not being noticed, I could follow them, the next time they take it off us, see where they keep it hidden.'

'Steal the map from R.U.S.T?' James exclaimed. He supposed this was a _Slytherin_ he was talking to, after all. 'I – I don't think that would be a good idea, at least not yet anyway. We still need them on our side to win F.A.R.T, remember? Not to mention to help us fight the Lenders.'

'Ok,' she shrugged dismissively, 'if you change your mind, just say the word.'

James shook his head in disbelief. Were _all_ of his friends completely mental?

When they got to the classroom Professor Meadows greeted them with an abundance of Christmas cheer. James thought she looked like an overdressed Christmas-tree herself. She had on a brilliant green dress, decorated with all sorts of spangly baubles. A herd of reindeer chased each other ceaselessly around her midriff, kicking up tiny puffs of knitted snow as they went. She had on the brightest red lipstick James had ever seen, and nestled in her bright blonde hair was a headband sporting a twinkling star that offered its own glinting, flashing light.

James shared a look with Fred as they sat down side by side.

'I just love Christmas!' Professor Meadows cried, to nobody in particular.

The class itself was much more fun, as she had them split up in teams of four. To each team she gave a single, caged, Cornish Pixie and a pile of sweets. The goal was to unlock the cage which held your own pixie, by using the 'Alohomora' charm, and set it loose on the other teams, to steal from their stash of sweets. Each team was then supposed to use the Impediment Jinx on any pixie that tried to steal from _their_ stash of sweets, and the team with the most sweets left at the end of the class was the winner.

It was sure to be madness.

James was teamed up with Fred, Clip and Cat. Clip managed to unlock the cage with ease, and set their energetic pixie off in the direction of a group of Slytherins. When no one else was looking, James offered him a high-five; that was the first time he had seen Clip try a new spell and get it perfect first time.

Fred quickly tired of throwing out Jinxes at their tiny, blue, impossible-to-hit targets. He swapped out their pile of sweets with some from a Skiving Snackbox that he produced from his bag. Shortly the class was filled with vomiting, coughing, boil-ridden pixies writhing about on the floor in obvious discomfort. James saw one particularly bold pixie, chewing on a nasty brown-coloured toffee. Moments later it was squatting over Fred's open bag, releasing a steady stream of yellow-brown vengeance from it's backside, all over the contents within.

Evidently not even that was enough to dampen Professor Meadows' mood, as she gave a few lazy flicks of her wand which cleaned up some of the mess, and pushed the pixies vaguely near their cages. Cat was busy crooning over the one Fred had caught defecating in his bag, stroking it's pale head and whispering softly in it's ear.

They were allowed to go a half hour early, and everyone beat a hasty retreat, for fear of being asked to help clean up when the Professor came to her senses. James was nearly out the door when he heard his name called.

He turned, and Professor Meadows sauntered up to him. Well, as much as one is able to saunter with half a leg missing, he supposed.

'Teddy arrives on Sunday, exciting isn't it?'

Oh. _Ohhhhh._

'Erm…'

'I'll say hello from you, shall I? I bet he'd like that. He would, wouldn't he?'

'Er… Yes?'

The professor squealed excitedly and ruffled his hair, then _kissed him_ on the top of the head. As she spun away, her garish dress whipping out and flicking James in the face he stared, open-mouthed. Was that even _allowed?_ He turned and ran out the classroom.

He caught up with his friends as they were having lunch. Cat frowned at him as he sat down.

'You've got something red in your hair James,' she said.

'Don't _even_ ask.'

The next day brought the final Quidditch match of the term, the second meeting of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. It was essentially a bottom of the table clash, with Hufflepuff having lost all of their games so far, and Ravenclaw's sole victory coming over the Badgers earlier in the term.

Both teams had, however, been injected with new life, after the bans were handed down following the most recent Gryffindor-Slytherin match. The Lions and the Serpents had lost a multitude of key players to the four-match ban, with the entire Hydra having been sidelined for Gryffindor. They wouldn't be eligible to play until the final game of the season, and all of a sudden the other teams were smelling blood.

They had even managed to drag Cassie out to watch the match, despite her numerous protests. There wasn't any homework that she could _possibly_ be doing on the last day, and considering her alternative was to stay in the Ravenclaw tower with a sullen and snappish Rain, she eventually caved and joined them. She made a show of bringing a book along with her to read, but it was her Dragon Book, and James knew that that was the one she carried around for when she wanted to _look_ like she was reading, but actually wasn't.

The group of James, Clip, Fred, Cat, Cassie and Tristan made their way out through the driving snow. James had his hood pulled up, and three pairs of gloves on, but the cold was still finding a way to sneak in through the cracks in his armour and nip him on every exposed piece of flesh.

Upon Cat and Freddy's stern insistence, they were yet again headed for the Fred Weasley I Memorial stand. Thankfully, it was the shortest distance from the Castle, so James had ceded this time.

Outside the stadium, as they hurried towards the warmth, James saw two stalls, manned by older students who were constantly shooting evil glares at each other. There was a queue in front of each one, and as they walked past he saw numerous coins change hands between the vendors and other students.

One stall displayed an embossed, cursive 'L' while the other was labelled, a little more shabbily, with a sign saying 'R.U.S.T Lending Exploitation Services'. It appeared that R.U.S.T were intent on beating the Lenders at their own game. Good luck to them, too. James thought it would be a colossal undertaking.

Up in the stadium they took their seats, all a little cautiously. Cat's chair seemed to grow fur when she sat on it, and started gnawing softly on her bottom. She just giggled and stroked it, like it was perfectly natural, and soon it was emitting a soft crooning noise. James' chair had that biding-it's-time feeling yet again.

The game got underway amidst the howling wind and horrendous snow. They could barely hear the commentary drifting across from the other end of the stadium.

This was going to be a tight match, James was sure of it. Ravenclaw were hot favourites to win the Cup now that Gryffindor and Slytherin had been hit with suspensions, but Hufflepuff were a spirited bunch, and quietly had a competent young team that they were working on.

With a crosswind like this, making shots at goal was bound to be a nightmare, not to mention visibility was down to, at best, thirty percent. He could only imagine what it would be like to play a game like this. This was where the Keepers, and the Beaters would shine. This was bound to be a defensive battle. With the Chasers rendered next to useless, it would take an incredibly crafty game plan to come out on top here.

The match dragged on through the morning. Cassie lit a small fire on a blanket in front of them, in an attempt to hold the cloying chill at bay. They huddled around it eagerly.

Ravenclaw slowly drew out a narrow lead at seventy to forty. Cassie, who had strongly professed no interest in Quidditch whatsoever up until that very morning, was now having great fun lording it over Tristan from where she sat pressed up next to him around the fire.

'I still can't believe you beat us at F.A.R.T,' Clip sighed, 'using the Cloak hardly seems fair.'

'Hey, it wasn't in the rules,' James said defensively, 'and besides, if you had hit me, our team would have been out for sure. High risk, high reward, right Tristan?'

'Indeed, "one often must kiss the Blast-Ended Skrewt in order to find out which end is it's head", as Father is wont to say.'

'Er…' James said.

'What even _is_ a Blast-Headed Scoot?' Fred asked.

Tristan just shrugged.

'I thought one of you might know.'

At that moment Cassie let out a gasp, and pointed excitedly out towards the pitch. She had been pointing at one of the Ravenclaw Chasers, who was diving down after a dropped Quaffle, but at the other end of the pitch the Seekers actually _had_ seen the snitch, and were rocketing upwards towards it.

James could just make out the blue and yellow shapes streaking through the air. The Hufflepuff Seeker appeared to be slightly ahead, and Tristan was cheering him on enthusiastically. Cassie stood, book forgotten, shouting something unintelligible amongst the twin roars of the crowd and the wind.

In a brief tangle of robes and a glint of gold it was over, the Hufflepuff Seeker emerging with his hand aloft, a tiny shimmering shape struggling within his grasp.

Cassie sank back into her chair moodily.

'Last time _I_ ever come to watch a game,' she huffed.

They stomped back up to the castle through the snow, Tristan telling everyone who would listen about how this game was the turning point of the Hufflepuff season. James tried to tune it out; he didn't need reminding how hard it was going to be for Gryffindor to keep winning. Poor Diana Fairbourne had had three nervous breakdowns in the week after the suspensions were handed down, and she was named Interim Captain of the team.

The relative warmth of the Entrance Hall was a welcome respite, and the group immediately began shedding layers, and shaking loose trails of snow off of their clothes. As they made to head off to find a warm fire to huddle around, and perhaps source a cup of hot cocoa, James saw Headmistress McGonagall standing at the base of the Grand Staircase. She was staring directly at him, with a look cold enough to put the icy December winds to shame.

'Mister Potter, Miss Featherstone, follow me, if you would. She has been asking for you.'

James looked around at his friends, stunned. _Asking for them?_ Who was? Were they in trouble? The Headmistress certainly looked grave. Was it R.U.S.T again, had the Lenders attacked Wren during the game? Cassie looked as terrified as he felt, and for once she didn't resist as he grabbed her hand in his own gloved one.

As they turned off on the first floor, and made down a familiar corridor towards the Hospital Wing, it dawned on James just who might have been asking for the both of them, and the fact that she was now in the Hospital Wing meant that whatever it was that was wrong with her, had taken a turn for the worse. He picked up the pace, and Cassie followed suit.

Headmistress McGonagall pushed open the doors of the Hospital Wing, and James saw, in the only occupied bed, a tiny, frail figure with red-gold hair. Her honey skin was pale, all sign of her usual healthy blush was gone. She looked so _wrong_ with her hair arrayed haphazardly about her, no sign of the usual intricate braids that she always wore. Her chest was rising and falling softly beneath the sheets, her breaths coming slow and halting.

She seemed so alone, lying there with nobody at her bedside. Where were all the rest of her friends? James wondered angrily. He paused at that; now he thought about it, he supposed he didn't know if she _had_ any other friends. Everybody talked about the mysterious girl with the funny name, who could control the magic of Hogwarts itself, or who was secretly Voldemort reincarnated, sent back to finish his work in taking over the magical world. Everyone was quick to speculate, but ever from afar. He rarely ever saw her outside of the company of Cassie. He supposed she was really her only friend, and himself perhaps, if he counted their series of awkward encounters and largely uncomfortable conversations as friendship. He supposed that _she_ clearly had, if she was asking for him.

In the face of something like this, it made his little internal feud with her seem quite silly, really.

'She fell ill about an hour ago,' the Headmistress explained, 'a Ravenclaw student found her, suffering from some form of fit in her dormitory, and she was brought here immediately. Priscilla has been unable to do anything for her as yet, and so we are arranging for an emergency evacuation to St. Mungo's immediately. They should be here any minute.

'She was lucid only momentarily, following her episode. She mentioned your name several times, Miss Featherstone, and then called for you, Mister Potter. I don't imagine she will reawaken before she leaves, but, well… It gives you a chance to say goodbye, nonetheless.'

The way she said that made James blood run cold in his veins. Say goodbye. Like it was _final._ James froze up, but Cassie put his thoughts into words, though he dreaded hearing the response.

'H-How bad is it? Is she going to be ok?'

The Headmistress gave them a long, level stare before answering.

'We don't know, at this stage. She is very sick, but the Healers at St. Mungo's are the best in the wizarding world. I'm sure that they will be able to work out what is wrong with her. There's not much that they can't fix.

'You go and say goodbye, I'm going to fetch Priscilla and show the Extraction Team in.'

They hurried over to the bed, Cassie had tears in her eyes, and was stroking her friend's hair softly.

'I should have stayed with you,' was all she was whispering, over and over again. Tears slid softly down her cheeks, glistening softly in the grey light filtering through the windows.

The silence in the Hospital Wing was oppressive. James felt it closing in on him, as he sat next to a dying girl's bed, and could do nothing. The only noises were Cassie's gentle sobs, and the occasional gust of wind howling its own icy anguish at the injustice of the situation.

Eventually Cassie could take it no more, and she turned to James, pressing herself into his chest and shaking softly with silent sobs, her entire body wracked with grief.

He held her quietly, resting his chin on the top of her head, unable to think of anything to say that would make it better.

The wind rattled the glass in its panes, and the storm raged on.

A door slammed open at the back of the room, and Headmistress McGonagall emerged, leading two Medi-Witches behind her. They were talking rapidly, using jargon which James didn't understand. The serious looks on the Witches faces seemed only to confirm his fears.

He reached in to grab Rain's hand, to give it a squeeze, to try and show her somehow that he was here, beside her. That she had friends, and they cared for her. Her skin was icy cold beneath his own, and as soon as he touched her, her eyes snapped open.

James jumped back in alarm, as she turned to face them both. She reached out an arm, as if to touch him.

'James… please…' Her voice was so weak, so quiet, that James almost imagined he had heard it. He leaned in to take her hand again, but she had already fallen back to the pillows, lifeless once more.

'Out! Both of you!' barked the nearest Medi-Witch, as she unpacked a floating stretcher next to the bedside. 'We don't need you in here upsetting the patient, now go on! She'll be fine, don't you worry your little heads.'

Being snapped at by an overbearing and condescending older witch was apparently too much for Cassie to take at that moment, and she burst from the room in tears. James walked out a little slower, casting several glances back over his shoulder as he went.

The Headmistress ushered him out the door, and offered a warm smile.

'She's in the best place she can be, now, James. I shouldn't think we have to worry about her. Run along, I believe Miss Featherstone is in dire need of a friend right now.'

James turned to leave, and just as the doors clicked shut, he heard a chilling scream come from within.

'Noooo! Bring him back! Potter!'

He whirled around, trying to pry open the door, but it was shut fast.

'Come back! Harry please!'

 _Harry?_

No more sounds came from behind the door, and James eventually turned to find Cassie, as he figured neither of them would want to be alone right now.

But why would Rain call him Harry? Sure, he had been told he looked quite like his father several times. But he knew that his own hair was slightly lighter, his eyes brown instead of green, and he had a light dusting of freckles across his nose that his father never sported. Al was the one who _really_ looked like their father. Was she just too delusional that her clouded mind mistook him? Had Rain even _met_ his father?

His confusion was interrupted as he came across Cassie, seated at the top of the staircase. She had her head in her hands, dark hair falling haphazardly around her face. He lowered himself down next to her and slid an arm around her shoulders. She didn't even look up.

The pair sat like that for a long time, in silence. Students came and went around them, paying them little mind. Eventually Cassie looked up at him, her eyes bloodshot.

'I don't want to lose her James,' she whispered.

James nodded in reply.

'We're not going to. She'll be at St. Mungo's already I bet. They'll have Medi-Witches all over her, working out what's wrong. I'm sure she'll be out of there in no time, you could go visit her over the holidays if you wanted.'

She burst into tears all over again, and pulled away from James.

'I don't – I don't even know where she lives,' Cassie sobbed.

'Oh,' said James, 'well, we will sort something out. _Someone_ has to know. Headmistress McGonagall would, I'm sure.

That seemed to placate her somewhat, and her sobs reduced to mere sniffles. James put an arm around her again, and she leaned into him. It was dark before the two figures at the top of the stairs stood up from their spots and headed off to bed.

The next day was another bleak one, grey, featureless sky wept soft raindrops onto their heads as the students of Hogwarts made their way to Hogsmeade Station ready to catch the train home for Christmas.

Their compartment on the train was subdued for the duration of the trip. Very few of them talked, outside of speculating about how Rain was doing. Cassie curled up in a corner and slept for most of the journey. James kept a nervous eye on her; she had been taking it pretty hard ever since they heard the news. He sorely hoped that getting back to her family would cheer her up.

As the train crawled slowly into King's Cross Station, James stared listlessly out the window, his forehead pressed up against the icy glass. Decorations hung from every available spot, tinsel was entwined around pillars, and groups of carollers serenaded the train's entrance in hearty chorus. Christmas had well and truly arrived in London, but he felt weird, like he had been away from it all. Between Quidditch, F.A.R.T club, and classes, he had so many other things on his plate that Christmas had sort of crept up on him entirely. He smiled when he saw his family on the platform, and gently reached over to wake Cassie, as the train screeched to a halt.

The group clambered out together, and milled about a bit, lingering on goodbyes before darting off to the arms of waiting family members. Fred was coming home with James, as both his parents were working, and eventually it was only the two of them and Cassie left waiting.

'We'll see you soon, okay?' James said to her, 'and I'll owl you on Christmas, we've got a present that is sure to cheer you up.'

'If either of you send me anything to the detriment of myself, my property _or_ my family, I will never help you with your homework again!'

She gave them a weak smile, and James punched her playfully on the arm.

'That's the Cassie we know and love.'

James turned and left with Fred, towards where his mother and siblings were standing together, waving happily. He cast a final glance back to see Cassie standing alone and a little despondent, all by herself. Despite all the decorations and the cheer, James just wasn't quite able to put himself into the Christmas spirit.


	13. Chapter 13

Christmas at the Potter household that year was an incredibly terse affair. Within the first week of James arriving home, there was another attack on a sacred site. This time it was Stonehenge. Harry came home from work late one night, describing a scene of absolute carnage; the great dolmens overturned, scattered about like leaves in the wind. Many of them were cracked open, and had bled a sticky black substance out onto the earth around, killing all that once grew there.

The whole family, being tied up working for the Ministry, was working overtime to investigate the incident. Aunt Hermione had been seconded to the Muggle Liaison Office in order to help smooth things over with the Prime Minister. Harry and Ron were spearheading the investigation. Ginny was left at home to look after the children largely by herself, and as a result the stress levels in the household were constantly boiling over.

'Ugh, what the _hell_ Lily!'

' _Watch your language Albus!'_

'But _mum,_ she's hid all my Tornados Quidditch figurines!'

'Only because he set fire to my _Witch Weekly_ magazine _on purpose!'_

'Albus, what did you do that for?'

'I _didn't_ Mum! It was accidental magic, I promise! She's just a big, lying Doxy-fart!'

' _Albus Severus Potter!_ How many times do I have to tell you to watch your tongue! Go to your room now, and there's no dessert for you tonight, either!'

'What- _ever_ , it's not like it's going to be a family dinner anyway.'

James chose this moment to duck off upstairs to his own room, and his mother's scream of frustration chased both boys all the way up the corridor. Meanwhile, Lily sat on a sofa in the living room, smiling sweetly. A bundled up sweater filled with irate miniature Quidditch players stuffed under a cushion by her side.

That night was Christmas Eve, and Harry didn't arrive home until after eleven. James heard a _pop_ of apparition come from downstairs, as he lay staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom, wondering if maybe he could go back to school a week early. Muffled male voices drifted up the stairs, followed by the clinking of glasses.

Gingerly, so as to avoid the several creaking floorboards, James slid off his bed and tiptoed downstairs to see who his father had brought home.

'–another bloody dead-end,' growled Uncle Ron's voice. A soft glow was emanating from the fireplace, and the two comfiest armchairs were turned to face it. James leaned up against the door frame, out of sight, hoping to get a little inside information on what was fast becoming the Ministry's most Top Secret case.

'I know,' sighed Harry, 'and not a single witness. It's almost _too_ clean, _too_ perfect. I just don't understand _why._ Nothing taken, just destruction. For someone to be able to destroy a magical location like that, too, the power must be immense… I'm not sure I really _want_ to corner whoever is doing it.'

Conversation waned for a moment, there was only the sound of glasses being raised to lips and put down again, in sombre duet with the fire crackling away in the hearth.

James waited, his breath held. He heard a creak from back near the bedrooms, probably Al getting up to use the bathroom, something he seemed to do eighteen times a night. He slipped further into the shadows, just in case.

None of this was news to him, outside of the fact that the Aurors were getting nowhere in the investigation. He had been listening at doorways ever since the incident, and now considered himself somewhat of an expert on the matter of the Stonehenge Sacrilege.

'It has to be the same person,' Ron eventually said, sounding incredibly weary, 'it's the same precision, the same destruction as the Erised case. Even that weird black goo is the same.'

Now _that_ was something new. The Daily Prophet had been labelling the most recent attacks as nothing more than mindless vandalism, and saying that the culprit from the Erised case had since been apprehended.

'Hmm, I wish we could get some of the Unspeakables to look at it. Ever since that business at the Hall of Prophecy, they've hardly left their little hole. To think, over a hundred prophecies a day, and all about–'

James didn't get to hear what the prophecies were all about, as Lily chose that moment to appear at the doorway leading to the kitchen. James silently cursed her, _just when the conversation_ finally _got interesting, too._ His eyes widened as she seemed to catch his gaze for a moment, before running up to Harry and wrapping him up in a tiny hug.

'Hello sweetheart, could you not sleep?'

James saw Ron stand up, and put his empty glass back on the side table. That was grown-up talk for "I'm about to leave." He cursed Lily again for interrupting his spying.

'No,' she mumbled into Harry's stomach, 'James, too. He's standing over there.'

He froze, and cursed Lily thrice over. He made his way out into the flickering firelight, trying to put on his most convincing sleepy-face. Harry held out an arm and pulled him into a hug too. James stared daggers at Lily, who merely smiled her innocent, unassuming little smile back up at him.

'Well that might be me for the night,' Ron announced to the room at large, 'I'll see you lot tomorrow no doubt.' He checked his watch briefly. 'Would you look at that, Merry Christmas everyone.'

With a soft _pop_ he was gone, back to his own house. Shortly after that Harry chased the children off to their own beds, and James' night of sneaking was over.

The big day itself was relatively uneventful for the Potter-Weasley clan. They stuck to their regular traditions of fitting far too many people into far too small a house and ate far too much food. James and Al, both still mad at Lily, teamed up with Fred and spent a large portion of the morning trying to get her to eat some Puking Pastilles. After the third attempt, where she found the sweet and popped it in Rose's bowl instead, who most certainly did _not_ find it amusing, the boys gave up, defeated.

Harry and Ron were called into the office again shortly after lunch, which put a dampener on the mood. They apologized to their respective wives profusely, but evidently there was a breakthrough in the case, and they couldn't miss it.

The sour atmosphere lingered for the rest of the day, and shortly after that, everyone left to return to their own homes. James turned in early that night, crossing off the days until he was back at school in his mind.

New Year eventually arrived, and James was eagerly waiting, his trunk packed at the foot of the stairs by eight o'clock that very morning. Things in the house hadn't improved since Christmas day, his father was rarely home, and when he was he spent most of his time arguing with Ginny or drinking Firewhiskey in front of the fire until three in the morning with Ron. Lily continued to be a terror, and Al had taken to retreating to his room for hours at a time, unwilling to talk to anybody.

All in all, it would be a relief to get away from it.

Harry had managed to beg some time off work to take James and Fred to the platform together, and they arrived to the now-familiar press and bustle of hundreds of wizarding families seeing off their own children for another term.

James kept an eye out for a splash of red-gold hair, or a small girl with a large book on dragons, but found neither. His owls to Cassie over the holidays had returned empty, and hearing no word on Rain's condition had contributed to his snappish mood as the holidays drew on.

Harry led the two boys to a quieter section of the platform, back a ways from the train. James found he suddenly had room to move his elbows, and his trunk was no longer running over as many toes. His father kept glancing at his watch and muttering to himself. He crouched down to look them in the eyes, and put an arm on each of their shoulders.

'All right boys, now please try and stay out of trouble this term. We _don't_ need a repeat of the first week of school, when we received no fewer than four owls about the pair of you causing trouble. Something about an inflatable chicken, and beating a girl over the head with magical flora? Either way, that's not the best way to go about making friends, and your mother and I have enough on our plate right now without having to deal with this, too.'

The two boys nodded. James had long since given up trying to explain the incident with Egberta to any grown-ups; they all just did that same smile and nod, then ruffled his hair and went ahead and handed him a lecture anyway.

'Now, there's going to be some extra security around school when you get back,' Harry continued, 'just while this Stonehenge case sorts itself out. It shouldn't take too much longer, we're really close to catching the culprit. A few of the Junior Aurors that have been training at the school over the holidays are going to stay on for a little bit, plus you know Professor Meadows was going to be an Auror, too, so you will be perfectly safe. Not that we expect anything to be happening to Hogwarts, of course.'

The way he hastily tacked that last sentence on the end made James more than a little suspicious, and once more for good measure he cursed Lily for interrupting his Christmas Eve spy session. Who knew what else he might have heard that night.

'Does that mean Teddy will be there?' Fred asked eagerly.

'Teddy is staying on, yes. He was the first one to volunteer, strangely enough. There will be he and six others, plus a senior Auror will be there at all times, as well.'

Senior Aurors were hardly as common as a half-breed Kneazle. What exactly was James missing, if they were going to all this length to add protection to Hogwarts?

His speculations were interrupted by the whistle of the Hogwarts Express, and Harry pulled them into a tight hug, before ushering them quickly towards the train.

'Stay safe, pay attention in class, and Aunt Hermione says to make sure you keep up with your homework!'

The two rolled their eyes as they clambered aboard just as the train began to move. They waved goodbye before turning to find a carriage with their friends.

They found Clip and Cat, together with a nervous-looking group of first years sheltering in a carriage towards the back of the train.

'Some older Gryffindor students are playing first-year Bludge-it,' Clip explained, 'where they hit these tiny bludger-looking things at first years, and if they hit they stick to you, and turn whatever they touch all sorts of weird colours.'

He stood up and showed them the seat of his pants, which were currently a vibrant shade of purple. James couldn't stop himself from giggling as he squeezed in by the window, next to Cat.

'Hey, those are from my dad's shop,' Fred remarked, 'they weren't supposed to go on sale yet because sometimes they–'

'Oww!' Clip suddenly screamed, leaping into the air and swatting at his backside. In the tight confines of their already-packed compartment, this resulted in several squashed toes, multiple banged heads, and an incredibly flustered Leah Ridley, when Clip landed face down in her lap, hastily ripping off his trousers, which were now starting to bubble ominously.

'Father warned me about situations like this,' Tristan mused, 'and that is certainly nothing like the diagrams he drew.'

James wasn't quite sure what he meant by that, but Leah let out an unholy squeal, and starting slapping Clip on the back of his head. It didn't take an Outstanding O.W.L to realise that that wasn't helping the situation in the least.

Clip finally rolled off, trouser-less, and landed at their feet on the floor. He held out his smoking jeans in pinched fingers, staring pointedly at Fred, his eyebrows raised. Leah was still hyperventilating as if it were her who had just had their bottom burnt off.

'Er… yeah,' Fred offered, 'some of those turn a bit acidic when they touch clothing, so Dad threw them out. Might be best if you just toss those out the window, you know, before it touches anything else.'

Clip hastily stood up and made to dispose of the offending clothing. A second round of screams erupted, and James looked around to see who was melting this time. The girls all had hands over their eyes, and Fred was pointing at Clip, doubled over in stitches. James turned to see two bright pink cheeks poking out of an acid-eaten hole in a pair of red-and-gold underwear.

It was a long time later before any of the girls or Clip would make eye contact with anybody else in the carriage.

By the time they arrived at Hogwarts it was well and truly dark outside. The night was clear and frigid, and James' breath brought forth misty curls in front of him as they disembarked from the train. He craned his neck to try and catch a glimpse of Cassie or Rain, but in the darkness, and encompassed by a horde of students all eager to get in out of the cold, he knew his chances were slim-to-none.

Once inside, surrounded by the familiar ochre sandstone walls, and a welcoming warmth, the students began to settle down for dinner. James made sure to check on his fathers' plaque, outside the door to the Great Hall, and he brushed a little dust off the green-edged copper, before making his way to his seat at the Gryffindor table. He tried again to see either of his two Ravenclaw friends, but to no avail. His worry was steadily increasing as the night wore on. If Cassie was absent as well, then surely that was bad news.

Clip had asked one of the Prefects to conjure him a cushion for the feast, and was sitting a little gingerly next to James. By the time dessert arrived most of the female population at the Gryffindor table had at some point cast a sly look and a behind-the-hand whisper his way.

'Cheer up, mate,' Fred slapped him on the back enthusiastically, 'my dad always says that's the best way to get girls to talk to you.'

James was suddenly hit by a strong recollection of his own father telling him not to listen to advice Fred had received from George Weasley.

After the feast James lingered, waving his friends on. He watched the entire Ravenclaw table empty out, but still saw no sign of his friends. Headmistress McGonagall had disappeared out a side door shortly after giving her speech, and James abruptly found himself the only one left in the Great Hall. He cast his eyes around one last time, as if maybe the pair had been hiding behind the great hourglasses that showed the house points, before pushing himself up and traipsing off towards bed.

He managed three steps out into the Entrance Hall, before he was nearly tackled to the ground by a streaking bundle of squealing, robed enthusiasm.

'Hello James Potter I'm back and I'm healthy again and so is Cassie and isn't it so exciting to be back we didn't have dinner we weren't hungry we didn't catch the train I only got out of hospital yesterday and they gave me some potions and now I'm all better.'

She took a deep breath, James thought she was liable to explode after cramming all that into one sentence. That or just sort of deflate like a big strawberry-blonde balloon. She still hadn't let go of James, which was going to make this a slightly awkward conversation.

'She's been given some very specific blends of potions, in order to combat the adverse effects of the sickness which she was suffering at the end of last term,' Cassie added helpfully, from where she stood. James shot her a pleading glance, and she peeled Rain off of him.

'They said I'm allergic to Hogwarts well my magic is allergic to Hogwarts magic and so it sucks it out of me and that was why I did the funny thing at the sorting and now everyone thinks I'm Dumbledore or Voldemort but I'm not I promise and I'm sorry I said those things about you in the hallway I didn't mean it I was grumpy all the time but now it's better because I'm happy all the time now.'

Apparently, whatever potions they were feeding her, had removed all knowledge of the phenomenon of punctuation from the poor girl's memory.

'According to the doctors, the latent magic encountered at Hogwarts, which is a part of the castle, and residual since its days of conception, have interacted poorly with Rain's own magical core. Nobody could figure out why, but the results were obviously what we observed throughout the term. Prolonged exposure led her to become enervated, tired, snappish, and somewhat drained of magic. They likened it to a muggle allergic reaction to a food source, or animal hair.

'It's a fairly unprecedented occurrence; they had never come across this happening to anyone else before, but they were able to devise a combination of no fewer than six potions that she has to take daily, which removes the effect altogether. It does however seem to provide her with an inordinate amount of energy. They assured me that her tolerance will build up over time. I really hope that they were right.'

Cassie's translation was only slightly easier for James to understand. Instead of no punctuation, she just used big words instead.

All this time Rain had been bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet, waiting for her turn to speak again. When Cassie had finished, she gestured for her friend to go.

'Cassie came and saw me on Christmas and then today when we came to school together we came by Floo Powder and it made me sneeze and then we have been walking _all around_ the castle today and it was loads of fun and I love Cassie.'

'I'm sorry I didn't respond to your owls, James, I was at St. Mungo's for a lot of the holidays, apparently… apparently Rain has no family.'

She looked incredibly sad at that last part, but Rain just nodded brightly.

'My parents are gone,' was all she said.

James excused himself shortly after that awkward little exchange. He was beginning to feel a touch sleepy, and the nervous energy that had kept him going all day worrying about his friends had dissipated, leaving him quite exhausted.

He gave Cassie a brief hug goodnight, and sort of patted Rain on the head, to avoid her latching on again. He was about to turn to leave, when she made eye contact, and held his gaze. Her eyes were back to their vibrant seafoam-green, and seemed to glow faintly in the darkening light.

'Goodnight James Potter,' she whispered.

He nearly tripped and fell flat on his face. The floor seemed to tilt beneath him, his vision tunnelled, and his extremities began to tingle. He gasped for air, leaned over to right himself against a wall, and fell, sliding down it. He curled up in a ball, his head in his hands, rocking gently back and forth as waves of dizziness washed over him.

So apparently _that_ was happening again.

The first week of classes were a slow one throughout the school. Students and teachers alike seemed to be still languishing over the excess of food consumed through the holiday season. The relentless, biting cold didn't help either. Quidditch practice on the first week was somewhat of a chore for James and Fred. They knew they weren't going to be playing, and they both had no desire to be out there on freezing mornings, watching hopelessly as Diana Fairbourne tried to glue together broken pieces of a team which had effectively had its head cut off, with the Hydra all banned for four matches. Nobody on the team was looking forward to Gryffindor's first match of the term.

James was still on the lookout for any more visits from the Lenders. The third F.A.R.T club meeting of the year was to take place in late January, and he had an inkling that they would likely pay him a visit before then. The word filtering down from the rumour mill, though, was that the Lenders were under serious assault from R.U.S.T.L.E.S, the Lending Exploitation Services branch of R.U.S.T, which had been set up in direct competition to the Lender's gambling racket. Evidently they were offering superior odds, and insider tips on which way to bet.

There had been a marked increase in the number of students admitted to the Hospital Wing that first week back, the majority sporting injuries that looked suspiciously like they might have been gained through illegal duelling.

There was little doubt that around them the war was raging, but James' main concern was keeping himself and his friends sheltered from the worst of it.

The Sunday at the end of the first week back was to be James' birthday. His friends began acting more and more suspiciously around him as the week drew out, cutting off conversations when he entered the room, and whispering quietly to each other when they thought he wasn't looking.

All, that was, except for Rain.

'Oh I just love Quidditch isn't it so much fun I never went to a game last time I was here I love winning too it's just great did you know it's your birthday on Sunday James and we have a surprise we are going to–'

Cassie dived to shove her hand over Rain's mouth. Evidently this tolerance to the side effects of her potions was taking a long time to build up.

The Quidditch match that they were watching was a one sided affair between Ravenclaw and Slytherin. The Serpents, having been hit with similar bans to Gryffindor, were faring terribly, and Ravenclaw had pulled out to a staggering two hundred and twenty points to zero lead. Aster Ogleby, the ace Ravenclaw keeper, was on fire, and had the entire crowd chanting his name. Even Cassie had somewhat of a grin on her face as she watched him make spectacular save after spectacular save.

Eventually, Odette Mansfield caught the snitch simply to put her team out of their misery. She easily outflew the Ravenclaw Seeker, but it was far too little, too late, and the Eagles triumphed two hundred and twenty to one hundred and fifty.

That, at least, was some consolation to James and the Gryffindor team.

Sunday morning arrived in the form of an exuberant Freddy jumping onto James' bed early in the morning.

'Happy birthday Jamesy!'

'Unnngh.'

'Come on, wakey wakey. Here, I have to give you my present before we go see the others, or else young Miss Featherstone might confiscate it.'

That piqued James' interest enough for him to roll over and take the large parcel that Fred handed him.

Clip sat down on the edge of the bed as James began unwrapping the present. He had hardly got halfway through before an inky black shape shot out from the wrappings and attached itself to James' face.

He squealed, tossing the parcel aside and trying to tug on the _thing_ that was firmly affixed to his face. It was soft and squishy, and as he tugged, it made a weird slurping sound, and there was a disgusting sucking feeling all over James' face.

Clip had fallen off the edge of the bed laughing, and Fred was making a poor effort at hiding his amusement.

'Don't – don't pull it mate,' he said between bursts of laughter, 'stroke it, along its head-thing there. Like that. Blimey, I didn't – didn't think he put one of _them_ in there!'

James stroked it, whatever _it_ was, along where he assumed its head was, and it eventually slid off, falling in a lifeless heap on his lap. He held it up by one of its tentacles and waved it at Fred, who scrambled backwards in a hurry.

'What in Merlin's name is this?' James yelled. It looked sort of like the giant squid, but black, and with many more tentacles. It gave a twitch, and James hurled it across the room.

Fred didn't answer, he just reached into his bag and pulled out a mirror, which he handed to James. He took it suspiciously and gasped when he saw his reflection. His face was covered in a giant bruise, which spelled out the word 'SUCKER'. Clip had only just managed to pull himself back up on the bed, and promptly fell off again when he saw James' face.

'I don't suppose this is easy to remove by any chance?' James growled.

'Err… not really. You see, Dad used to make these telescopes, which sort of did the same thing. Long-life bruises. They invented the magic themselves. This is a new model, called a squid-kisser, like the giant squid, you see? You put it in someone's bag, or, well, present, and it jumps out at attaches to the face of whoever opens it. Excellent idea really. Unless you err… happen to get hit.

'Promise I didn't know it was in there, they've been experimental for ages, I didn't even know they were selling them yet, I swear!'

James shot him a filthy look, before opening the rest of the present a little more carefully.

The rest of his friends were all gathered at the Gryffindor table that morning. It was early on a Sunday, so they were very nearly the only ones in the Great Hall. Golden rays of sunlight slanted in through the windows, and twin fires roared in their hearths at either side of the hall.

They all started singing "Happy Birthday" as soon as he appeared in the doorway. A few older students shot them irritated glares, and James slunk down into his seat well and truly embarrassed.

'Hey what's that mark on your face?' Holly asked as he sat down.

'Fred's lovely birthday present,' James grumbled.

The group had all pitched in together to buy him an exquisite Chaser's Glove. It was a sort of quilted leather gauntlet-cum-vambrace, which was worn on the Chaser's throwing arm, and offered additional protection from Bludgers, as well as supposedly providing superior grip on the Quaffle. They were mostly only worn in professional leagues, by actual professional Quidditch players. James marvelled at it; it was beautiful.

The leather itself was dyed a dark crimson, and stitched with gold thread. A pair of golden lions stood rampant on the forearm, and on the back, stitched into the padding, were the names of all his friends.

'I wanted to get you a Pygmy Puff,' quipped Fred, 'but then Clip would have been jealous.'

'Do you like it?' Holly asked eagerly, leaning in with her hair dangling in her goblet of pumpkin juice.

'It's perfect,' James said with a smile. Maybe they were all a bit mental, but they were the best friends that he could have asked for.

The group spent most of the day down by the lake, engaged in a snowball fight of epic proportions. Everyone was having a tremendous time, up until the point where Rain got a little excited, after she was hit in the back of the head by a perfectly charmed shot from Clip.

She got back to her feet, pushing herself up off the ground. An icy breeze began whipping up off the lake, rustling James' overcoat, and tugging at a few stray locks of his hair. Rain was laughing maniacally, hovering a half-foot off the ground, her arms spread wide. Her hair was whipping madly about her like an amber blaze in the sunlight.

The group all stopped what they were doing to watch the spectacle. Cassie took a few uncertain steps towards her, but froze again, as the snow began rising up from the ground around them.

Abruptly, with the snow suspended at around James' chest height, and the frozen grass exposed beneath their feet, Rain stopped laughing.

'Snow _fiiiiiiiiiight!'_ She cried.

Great swathes of snow whipped about her, swirling around in a great frozen vortex. James was knocked to the ground, the wind taken out of him, in seconds, and his view of the carnage came from where he lay, half buried beneath an icy drift.

After several minutes of what James assumed was something akin to being trapped in an avalanche, the barrage stopped, and a familiar girlish giggling was the only sound he heard.

'Don't you guys just _love_ snow fights I love snow fights, I love snow. And water, that's why they called me Rain did you know that of course you didn't I haven't told anyone that because that's a secret.'

They really had to get this girl some new potions.

That succinctly ended that particular activity, and the group tramped inside to try and get warm, all except Rain picking snow out from underneath their clothes.

Later that evening, James got a more pleasant surprise, as Teddy popped in the Gryffindor common room to wish him a happy birthday. He ruffled James' hair and gave James his customary squeeze of his bicep, looking shocked and asking if James had been working out.

The pair sat down opposite each other in some squishy armchairs, not too far from the fire. Teddy had his hands shoved inside his pockets and looked more than a little windswept.

'You've got some sort of mark on your face, James.'

'Don't remind me,' he growled.

Teddy shrugged and held up his hands defensively.

'I finally got a night off from patrolling the grounds,' he continued, 'they've had us on a constant rotation. Except I _always_ seem to end up getting the outer perimeter. It's almost like Auror Harrison knows I'm… never mind. How was Christmas, champ? Mum and Dad not too stressed with the whole Stonehenge break-in debacle?'

'A little,' James admitted, 'we missed you there. It must have been like the first family Christmas ever with no Teddy. Victoire was moody the whole time and–'

'She was?' I mean, 'oh, well, we're not really seeing each other anymore buddy. I'm, well. I'm trying to move on, anyway.'

James nodded. It still felt a little weird to be talking about Victoire without Teddy. It had always been a thing in the family that they were just together. Harry and Ginny, Ron and Hermione, Teddy and Victoire. They just _were._

'I know,' James mumbled, 'that's cool. How was training?'

'It was mental! Get this, we managed to lose Perkins up in that eighth floor for _two days_ , then he popped out stuck in a girls' lavatory. When he was up there he swears he had a lethifold try and mate with him!'

James laughed, if _that_ particular story got out, the Hogwarts Rumour Mill would be working overtime about the eighth floor again.

The two swapped stories and laughed together like the brothers they so nearly were, until it started to get dark. Teddy begged off, saying he was busy again that night, and said his farewells to the group.

They lazed around in the Gryffindor common room for another few hours, Fred and Clip passing the time by playing Exploding Snap. Cassie had taken Rain to bed shortly after Teddy turned up, much to the relief of everybody present. James was contemplating turning in himself, but on a whim he decided on a spot of birthday-night exploring to round out his day.

Tristan was the only one even remotely interested, as he had to travel back to the Hufflepuff common room anyway, so he offered to come along for a bit of sneaking on the way, provided they avoided any and all trapdoors that they may come across.

The pair set off beneath the cloak, and almost ran right into Dominique just outside the portrait hole. She was straightening her hair and her robes, rubbing a smudge of lipstick off of her cheek, as James and Tristan snuck carefully around behind her.

'Bloody marvellous, this thing,' Tristan whispered.

James just smiled proudly.

They made their way down through the castle, to a secret passage that James knew about on the fourth floor, it took them all the way down to a spare cupboard in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom on the second floor via means of an incredibly fun stone slide. It was James' favourite discovery to date.

The pair landed with a _whump_ behind the false back of the store cupboard. James pushed it aside, and made to open the door out into the classroom, but froze when he heard voices. He and Tristan peeked out through the half-open door to see the source.

It was Professor Meadows, sitting atop her teacher's desk, her leg off and in a bracket beside her.

And she was talking to Teddy.

'Don't you see, Teddy? It was always me, ever since we were at school here together. Who did you come to when Valerie Higgs dumped you, or the time you thought you were going to get expelled for impersonating a teacher and giving Barry Purkiss a detention. Who did you spend all night with in fifth year dancing on the rooftop under the stars after that Astronomy class, because nobody had asked me to the ball?

'It was always me Teddy. I… I've always loved you.'

James knew that this was a conversation he had no right to be witnessing, and if the sickly pallor of Tristan's face was anything to go by then he felt the same way.

There was no way that they could make it back up the slide that they had just come down, the stone was too slick. James knew from experience that this storeroom door was one of the noisiest in the castle, it creaked like it hadn't been oiled its whole lifetime. He supposed that they _could_ just try and wait it out, but he was just so _uncomfortable_. It was like he was spying, he knew that relationship conversations were private. If they were caught, well, he shuddered to think of the consequences.

'Zoe, I… I can't, Victoire, she… Things are still… complicated.'

'No they aren't,' whispered, leaning in towards Teddy, 'she was never right for you, a girl like that. You can't control what she is. I heard what she did to you, and it broke my heart Teddy, it really did. She's a ticking time bomb, and who's to say she won't do it again.

'I'd never, Teddy, I wouldn't ever do that to you.'

Her face was barely an inch from Teddy's now, James could see almost perfectly from his vantage point within the cupboard. He tried to tear his eyes away, but couldn't. He was trapped, staring, an intruder in this incredibly private little world, that only had room for two.

He watched in suspense, as his Professor leaned in further, taking Teddy's face between her two hands gently, lovingly, like this truly was a moment that she had dreamed of for nearly ten years, and kissed him.

Teddy resisted at first, talking a half-step backwards, but James saw him sink into it, and he wrapped his arms around Zoe's back, pulling her body into his own.

James had seen enough, he felt like he needed a shower, the dirty feeling of spying on Teddy was sickly, and cloying. He drew back into the cupboard to hold an emergency conference with Tristan, and to plan an escape. He heard a crash come from the classroom, and both boys popped their heads back to the gap in the door.

Teddy was now leaning over Professor Meadows, whom he had laid flat on her back atop the teacher's desk. He was standing between her legs and kissing her _very_ passionately.

James thought he was going to be sick.

'Now _that_ looks much more like father's diagrams,' said Tristan.

James couldn't take any more, he grabbed Tristan and hauled him bodily out of the cupboard, tearing from the room as quickly and as silently as he could. He made it halfway to the door before the Cloak caught on the corner of a desk, and whipped off, revealing his head and torso. He stopped, frozen in panic, and Tristan crashed into his back, sending them tumbling to the floor, and knocking over several chairs in the process.

James lay there, his eyes squeezed shut, and waited for what was surely about to be the death of him.


	14. Chapter 14

James stood, hands buried deep in the pockets of his robes, staring down at his shoes. He didn't even dare look up to try and catch Tristan's eye. They had been caught, well and truly. Either Teddy or Professor Meadows had wrapped them up in Body-Bind curses and strung them up by their ankles so they dangled in the air. At least this time James had been wearing trousers.

He had managed to hastily shove the Invisibility Cloak into the back pocket of those trousers, and was now standing flush up against the wall, in an effort to hide his somewhat-distended backside, and the existence of the Cloak from his professor.

Teddy and Professor Meadows were having a heated discussion behind privacy wards at the other end of the room. Both were red-faced, and Teddy kept running his hand through his hair, changing the colour of it each time, subconsciously.

The room was oddly silent, despite the couple who appeared to be on the verge of yelling. It made for a strange scene from where James stood; it may have been comical under almost any other circumstances. As it was, James found it much more ominous and distressing.

An owl cried somewhere out beyond the inky black windows, a door slammed deep within the bowels of the castle, and the clock on the wall continued to tick.

James saw the slight ripple in the air that announced the privacy wards dropping a moment before Professor Meadows' voice crashed over him in a vicious assault.

'What in Merlin's name were you thinking? Up after curfew, sneaking around the castle like it's some kind of game, _spying on people!_ This isn't your silly little treasure hunt club, this is my office! My _private_ space! You are most certainly not allowed in here without my express permission! You had better have an _excellent_ explanation for why you are standing here in front of me right now, and not in your beds where you damn well should be!'

James would have taken a step backward, wilting under a tirade of that magnitude, had he not already had his back to the wall. Their ordinarily-bubbly Defence Professor was a picture of righteous fury. Her brilliant blonde hair, while never truly tidy, was in wild disarray, flyaway strands protruding in all directions. Her cheeks were flushed red, her eyes burning with anger, bulging out of their sockets as she pinned them to the wall with the strength of her gaze alone. Even her clothes looked angry, the collar of her robe sticking upwards, and a single sleeve pushed up above the elbow. The buttons of her shirt were undone down to – James hastily swung his gaze back to his Professor's face. He would face her withering glare any day over looking at… _those_.

James caught Teddy's eye from where he was standing behind Professor Meadows, and he looked cross. The only time James had ever seen him looking that mad was when James had set fire to his half-brother's favourite photo of his parents, with accidental magic. James swallowed nervously and looked back down at his shoes. They, at least, offered no reproach.

'We weren't _spying_ ,' Tristan pleaded, 'we were just er… out for a walk, erm…'

James spoke up, in an attempt to rescue his floundering friend.

'I was walking Tristan back to his common room, it's late, and I didn't want him going by himself. We were… taking a shortcut through a secret passageway; it comes out in the back of that cupboard-'

'Well, isn't that so very _thoughtful_ of you.' Professor Meadows' voice was dripping with sarcasm. 'As it works out, I happen to know all the secret passages of the castle. The teachers are given lists of all those currently known and active. I have _never_ seen any mention of such a passage, and I would know; this is _my_ office, after all.'

James' heart was racing. If he could show them the entrance, maybe they would believe him, and he would avoid whatever punishment was in store for him. He hadn't heard what the consequences were for sneaking into a teacher's office after hours and spying on her while she made out with somebody, but there were rumoured to be chains and whips stored away somewhere in the dungeons. Perhaps _this_ was what they were being saved for.

'Look, I'll show you!' he practically squealed, dashing over to the offending cupboard and throwing open the door.

Four perfectly ordinary walls stared back at him, with not a slide in sight.

'If you are _quite_ finished wasting my time James Potter, I'd ask you to step out here. _Now_.'

James ran his fingers frantically along the walls, feeling for some sort of crack or undulation he could wrap his hands around, any sign of the slide that had been there only moments ago. He hadn't heard the wall slide back across when they were huddled in there. He pushed against the wall, slapping it with his palms, but the effect was laughable, the stone unyielding.

Teddy grabbed him by the back of his robes and hauled out into the classroom.

'I swear it was there, I swear it!' James was begging now, and to hell with dignity. 'Wasn't it, Tristan? There's a slide, behind a tapestry on the fourth floor, you poke the wizard in the eye and he-'

'ENOUGH!'

James' mouth snapped shut with an audible _click_.

'You two are coming with me. You are both going to lose fifty house points each, and you are coming to see the Headmistress and-'

She was cut off by Teddy, who had reached forward and put a hand on her shoulder. She spun wildly to face him. He was staring at her with a very significant look, and with a twitch of his wand the air rippled and another of his privacy barriers rose up around them.

Their heated debate picked up right where it had left off the last time. James watched as Professor Meadows started yelling, gesticulating wildly in his and Tristan's direction. Whatever she was saying, it wasn't likely to be that they were her two favourite students in the entire castle.

Teddy remained calm and implacable, weathering her fiery tirade. He laid a single hand gently on Zoe's shoulder, which seemed to suck the anger right out of her. Her expression softened, she sagged into him a little, and a silly smile replaced the scowl on her face. Teddy reached down and hastily did up a couple of the buttons on her blouse – _Phew_ , though James – and she gave a small _giggle_ , of all things.

With yet another shimmering of the air, the sound in the room returned to normal, washing over James and Tristan where they were stood.

Professor Meadows turned back to face the pair of them, the frown returned to her face seemingly of its own accord.

'Alright, here's what is going to happen.' The words came as if forced, and her face was screwed up in an ugly grimace as she leaned in to talk to them. 'You will tell nobody what you saw tonight, not a _soul_. Do you understand?'

Both boys nodded enthusiastically.

'In return, your punishment will be only a single detention, and no loss of House points. You will report back to me here, in this office at seven p.m. Saturday evening. Bring your wands. You will under _no circumstances whatsoever_ tell anybody about the detention either, or I will see to it that you will spend the rest of your seven years at Hogwarts wishing you had been both born girls and sent to Beauxbatons! Do I make myself clear?'

More vigorous nodding.

'Now out of here, all of you! I've had enough of you boys for one night.'

James and Tristan were practically tripping over each other in their eagerness to leave. James turned at the doorway to see Professor Meadows pointing to the exit and looking straight at Teddy.

'That's you, too. I… I need some time to think right now.'

Teddy looked like he wanted desperately to say something, but eventually slunk out towards the door as well. Professor Meadows looked away as he left, and James thought she looked like she was about to cry.

'Thanks, Teddy,' James said, as his half-brother stormed past them. It had been him that got them out of whatever punishment the professor had been thinking of in the first place.

'I didn't do it for you, James,' Teddy spat, 'this isn't all about you. We aren't all here to serve as your entertainment. These are people's _lives_ you are messing with. You better hope that I don't tell your father, or that will be the last you see of that cloak for a long time, I guarantee it.'

With that, Teddy pushed past a dumbstruck James, and stomped off down the corridor. James felt his eyes stinging, and he scrubbed at them angrily, trying to hide his tears from Tristan.

It was a silent trip down to the Hufflepuff dormitory after that.

 _Oh bollocks. Bloody, buggering, giant bollocks._

It was the next day, a chilly Monday afternoon, and James was sitting with his head in his hands, an agonised expression on his face. Professor Meadows had told him in no uncertain terms that what he had seen last night was not to leave that room. According to her, it was the one condition applied to their lenient punishment, the one single thing that James wasn't allowed to do.

And he had just gone and done the thing.

Holly Brooks sat opposite him, her knees tucked up beneath her chin, in complete shock. James could practically see the cogs of her brain working, behind those glittering pale grey eyes. Her mouth worked a few times, unable to form words. The strand of hair she had been sucking on lay damp and abandoned on her chest.

James couldn't _believe_ that he had let it slip.

Holly had a way of making him say things that he hadn't meant to say. The way she steered the conversation, artfully manoeuvring James to a point where giving up this desperate secret seemed as nothing to him. His friend was a Slytherin, and she had not been chosen into the house of cunning ambition purely on looks alone. Coupled with her self-professed talents at slipping through rooms unseen and listening at doorways, she was quickly becoming a highly useful resource in the ongoing battle for supremacy that was F.A.R.T club.

James just had to remember that she wasn't always using her powers for good, as it were.

Sadly, this wasn't the first embarrassing secret he had subconsciously handed over to her. There had been the time when they were reminiscing about their childhoods, and he had told her the story of how, at age four, he had escaped the house come bath-time and run halfway down the street naked, before his mortified mother had managed to round him up.

He still couldn't manage to keep the blush from his cheeks every time she asked him if he needed a bath.

Holly popped the strand of hair back into her mouth, sucked on it pensively for a moment, before speaking carefully, the flicker of a smile dancing about the corner of her mouth.

'I think this might have been a good thing, James.'

It was even more impressive that she could manage that with the hair still actually _in_ her mouth.

'Err…' James was still working on that witty dialogue thing.

'I bet if a teacher was caught,' she lowered her voice and giggled slightly, ' _making out_ with one of the Aurors, they would be in more trouble than a Bowtruckle in a lumber yard.'

James just looked on, confused. That poor Bowtruckle.

'What I'm saying, is that I would bet my last Galleon that those two shouldn't have been doing… _that_ last night, and if Headmistress McGonagall found out, they might both get kicked out of school. I bet Professor Meadows didn't even give you a detention, or take any House points, or anything, right?'

'Erm… No, she didn't,' James lied. At least he hadn't let _that_ slip.

'Exactly,' Holly chirped, looking very proud of herself for evidently having figured out the situation. 'I bet she just yelled at you, told you not to tell anyone or else she would throw you off the Astronomy Tower, and sent you on your way.'

'Pretty much.' James was pointedly not making eye contact. Holly was uncannily good at sniffing out lies.

He flinched as she gave a little squeal, clapping her hands together in excitement.

'Ooh James, this is great! You know what you have now? You have blackmail!'

James didn't know what a blackmail was, but it sounded rather sinister. Rather too _Slytherin_ for his tastes.

'This means, that if you ever get in trouble, or fail a test, or shoot the Professor in the bum with a Stinging Hex again – of course I heard about that – that all you have to do is say that you're going to tell Headmistress McGonagall about her _making out_ and you will be off the hook! Blackmail is excellent, everyone in Slytherin is trying to get blackmail on everyone else so they can make that person do things for them.'

Holly looked positively gleeful, like it was Christmas all over again and James had just handed her the newest Firebolt Supreme Mk. II. If she wasn't careful she was going to suck that hair right out of her own head.

'I am _not_ going to do a blackmail to Professor Meadows Holly, that's, that's _mental!'_

Her face fell.

'Oh come _on_ James, I bet you'll think twice next time she goes to take points from you because you and Fred are goofing off again!'

James shook his head firmly. Inside he was all disbelief; this girl was certifiably insane. By the sounds of it _all_ Slytherins were certifiably insane, if this was what they spent all day talking about.

'I'm _not_ doing blackmail, and you aren't doing it either. If you do, then I'm never talking to you again, ever. I _like_ Professor Meadows, she's my favourite teacher _and_ she might be my almost-half-sister-in-law one day. You can't do blackmail to family.'

Holly pouted, she gazed up at him with those big, grey eyes, she tilted her head to the side, she even took the hair from her mouth in order to look more sad.

James wasn't buying it this time.

'Fine,' she grumbled, 'you Gryffindors and your honour, or whatever. Anyway, come on, I know the best place we can finish that Herbology essay. I found this totally awesome room up on the sixth floor, every wall has a miniature waterfall on it, and it's so peaceful. It does kind of make me need a wee though…'

James got up from his spot by the library window and trailed after his friend, idly wondering how it was that he managed to attract all the nutty ones.

The next morning, when James arrived at breakfast, flanked by Clip and Freddy, the entire school was abuzz. The soft susurrations of whispered conversations were being shared within tightly-huddled groups of friends all across the hall. Every so often laughter would bubble over, but the offending individual was always quickly silenced.

James sat down across from Leah and Rosalie, who were also having their own private conspiracy meeting. He looked up and down the table in confusion. This was _breakfast,_ yet almost every single table setting as far as he could see was adorned with a dark-glassed bottle, or a steaming, frothing pitcher of amber liquid.

An older student slid a tankard down to the confused trio, and James hesitantly took a sip.

The drink was warm and sweet, sliding down his throat eagerly and heating him up from the inside. He felt his fingers and toes, which had been stinging slightly in the January morning air, begin to thaw almost instantly.

'Hey!' he exclaimed, 'I think it's Butterbeer!'

'You bet your Kneazle it's Butterbeer, Potter,' laughed a fourth-year Gryffindor, three seats down, 'you'll never guess what happened.'

James, Fred, Clip, and now Rosalie and Leah all turned to look at him, nearly identical masks of curiosity adorning every face.

The fourth-year tapped his friends on the shoulder and nodded towards James and his crew. The older group swivelled in their seats to face them, James noticed that each of them had at least three empty bottles in front of their setting. One dark-haired, freckled, boy was swaying slightly in his seat.

The boy, who James remembered as Connor… Something, was gesturing for them all to gather round. He grabbed his bottle and took another hearty swig, before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and letting out a gut-tearing belch.

'Listen close, little firsties, this is important news,' Connor leered at each of them in turn, and James returned his attention with a sickly grimace. 'Last night, our dear friends at R.U.S.T managed to push through a bill past the dear Headmistress to allow Merlin's own nectar to be distributed in a limited sense throughout the school.'

Leah was looking at least as confused as James felt. They could have Butterbeer at school now? How was that such important news?

'Ha!' Connor barked, slapping his hand on the table, causing one of his friend's bottle to crash to the floor. 'I see your confusion, for what does a little firstie know about the comings and goings of the big school, the pacts and deals made between the upper years.

'Ponder this, then, if you will. A certain money- _lending_ society, who make a good deal of Galleons from gambling, and a good deal more from black market imports, suddenly finds itself at war with a group of equally ambitious individuals, who have the guts, nay the indecency, to challenge their not-so-free-market capitalist regime.

'Now, said ambitious individuals lack the required contacts and experience that forms a vital part of any black market trading, so what do they do? They attack the way that they do best; with their minds. They don't go after the individuals, they go after the system. Genius, I say, they're all brilliant!'

With that, Connor leaned back in his seat, as if to press up against a wall that wasn't there. He toppled over backwards, spilling his remaining Butterbeer all over his robes. The group all turned to look at him, but he just lay their laughing madly, muttering 'genius, genius,' over and over again.

James looked back at his friends, an eyebrow raised. He watched the progression of comprehension march across Clip's features, before he opened his mouth and gasped.

'He's right, they are geniuses! The Lenders make most of their money from smuggling in illegal items; Weasleys Wildfire Whizbangs, Skiving Snackboxes, Firewhiskey and _Butterbeer!_ I bet the market for it was huge; it's like _everybody's_ favourite drink. Now, with anyone able to get it from the house-elves, or have some at breakfast, they've completely removed a section of the Lender's cash flow.'

His face went dark for a second, and when he continued it was in a much more sombre tone.

'I bet there will be some real backlash from this.'

A greater understatement had possibly never been made, as by lunch time the Hospital Wing was overflowing with students suffering an array of curse- and hex-related damage. Connor Something had been found, not hanging from a tree, but tied to it, stunned, his arms spread-eagled as if he were being crucified. The message was not lost on the students or the staff, and by the end of the day faculty and Aurors alike were striding the corridors with wands drawn, looking for any hint of violence upon which they could mete out swift justice.

After a double-period of Charms to end the day, James made his way with Tristan, Clip, and Fred, to the library. The whole group had decided to band together and pool their resources to work on a particularly nasty seven feet of parchment that Professor Plye had assigned them for Transfiguration. When they arrived, however, the rest of their friends weren't located in the groups' usual study spot.

The group wandered around, searching the nooks and crannies of the maze-like library, until finally, in a quiet, out-of-the-way corner, in which Cassie loved to come and read when she was seeking some time alone, James found her.

He knew immediately something was wrong.

Cassie was sitting on the floor, in the corner of the alcove, hugging her knees. Her face was down, hidden from view, and James saw her body lurch every few seconds in response to great, heaving sobs.

James called for the rest of his friends, and crouched down next to Cassie, resting a hand on her arm. She looked up momentarily, but shrugged him off again once she saw who it was.

'Cassie, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Are you ok? Did the Lenders do something to you?'

James had a sudden onrush of crippling fear; he was still owed a not-so-friendly visit from the Lenders. Their last meeting had been vague but ominous, and they had directly threatened Cassie, as well as Holly. Were they finally collecting their dues?

Cat rushed in to Cassie's other side, immediately leaning in to whisper soft, crooning words in her ear, rubbing her gently on the back. The muffled sobs stopped shortly after, but she still refused to lift her face. James looked around again, Rain and Holly were supposed to have been here, too. There was no sign of either. The sense of dread increased exponentially.

Eventually, Cat managed to coax Cassie up into the lone chair within the alcove. James and Tristan were lingering around just outside; it really wasn't a space designed for more than two. Fred and Clip were in the next one over, supposedly working on their essays, but James had heard the phrase "Long-life Dungbomb" at least three times in the past minute, and he knew that _definitely_ wasn't part of the essay.

Surreptitiously, James was shooting worried glances at Tristan. He still hadn't told any of his friends about that visit from the Lenders, and now they were being attacked, all because he was too damn proud to just throw the dumb game and come in fourth. He debated pulling Tristan aside to confess, to get the pressing weight of this secret off of his chest, but Cassie was about to speak, and James lost his train of thought.

The six of them squished into the alcove together, James wedged up hard against a book on how to turn ones vegetables into Quaffles.

'Professor Plye pulled me aside,' Cassie sniffed, 'at the end of Transfiguration… He- he handed me back the last test that we did. He said I got all the answers exactly as he had them written down on his manuscript…'

James was yet to see how this was bad. If he had got all worked up over Cassie scoring a ninety-eight percent instead of one hundred…

'He said I got them _exactly_ right, even the two that he made mistakes on when he wrote the manuscript. He- _he thinks I cheated and he gave me zero and detention and now I'm going to fail the class and no one believes me!'_

She burst into tears all over again, and Cat pulled her into a firm embrace.

James, meanwhile, was battling very fiercely with the urge to be sick all over his shoes. This sounded _exactly_ like something the Lenders would do. He wouldn't put it past them to have switched Cassie's test answers out. Merlin, they might have even wrote the errors into Professor Plye's manuscript in the first place. They were terrifying when they were mad, and right now they were livid.

Everyone was making consoling noises, and patting Cassie on the back, or the head, but James was frozen in fear. Holly wasn't here. He hadn't seen her since their study session in the waterfall room the evening before. With a final glance around the room, to ensure that his friends weren't in any immediate danger, he took off, dashing out towards the exit, the librarian's angry yells snapping at his heels.

He ran towards the Slytherin dungeon, having no idea what he would do if he even got there. Sneak in behind another student, perhaps? He cursed himself for having forgot the Cloak. The one time he would _actually_ need it.

Once he arrived in the dungeons, James looked about, hoping to find some green-trimmed robes to follow. He located a pair – a couple, walking hand-in-hand – and latched on to them from afar. They came to the doorway and uttered a passphrase that James was unable to catch. They stepped in casually, and James sprinted up as quickly and silently as he could. The door was sliding shut, fast. The gap was still a metre wide, he could make that... Two feet, he positioned his body sideways, sprung off from the wet tiles–

And landed with a _thud_ up against the hard stone wall. Twin serpents carved of stone gazed down at him. Was that amusement glinting deep within their emerald eyes?

' _No Gryffindorsssss today, little one,'_ one of them hissed.

' _Thisss iss the Ssssslytherin dungeon. Go play in your tower with your fat woman.'_

James cursed, angrily bashing his fists up against the stone wall. The sound he generated wasn't even loud enough to echo through the dingy corridor. He turned, defeated, to make his way back and try to explain to his friends why he had just run out on them, when the grating of stone-on-stone sounded from behind him. He spun, hope burgeoning anew within his chest.

Viola Greengrass was midway through stepping out the doorway, looking _very_ confused at having a fellow first-year, but a Gryffindor, planted in her path.

'Can I… help you?' she sneered.

'Holly Brooks, is she in there? Can you get her for me? Please!' James was beginning to get desperate; if she wasn't in here he didn't know where to look. Images of a dark-haired, grey-eyed body kept flashing into his brain, hanging from the bough of a tree. He shook his head to try and clear that scene from his mind.

'Brooks? _That_ bint? I don't know _where_ the rat has scampered off to this time. Somewhere far away, hopefully, like Australia. I hear it's very poisonous over there at this time of year.'

James' eyes widened in shock. He hadn't been aware that Holly and Viola were on such terms. In fact, he had seen them sharing a laugh during Herbology just yesterday–

He froze, surely not, not two in one day.

'What… what did she do?' James asked, cringing in anticipation of the response.

'What did she _do?_ ' snapped Viola, her pale complexion mottling with a pinkish hue, 'she _only_ snuck into _all_ the first-years rooms, and _stole_ everyone's most prized possessions. Then she wrote it all down in that _hideous_ little notebook of hers, about how she was going to "give them back to us in repayment for favours" and how now she would be able to "use us".

'We all knew she was a little weird, creeping around all the time, pretending that no one could see her, listening at doorways, but everyone sort of ignored her. _Now_ , though, now she has crossed the line. To think! Her dirty little hands, all over my delicates. Ugh! I think I need to go shower again.'

With that she spun on her heel, and the stone doors ground shut in front of James, leaving him staring blankly at a pair of very bored-looking stone snakes.

James turned and fled, dashing up the Grand Staircase. He had an idea where Holly might be hiding, where she might have gone if she wanted to be alone. He was certain now that this, too, was the work of the Lenders, there was too much coincidence in it; Holly _and_ Cassie being attacked on the same day. The craftiness was the real giveaway, it was so believable that both the Slytherin first-years and Professor Plye had fallen for the deception. James cursed under his breath; this was exactly the thing that he had been hoping to avoid by bringing the first-years all together. If everyone wasn't so divided about this stupid F.A.R.T club then maybe Viola would have given Holly a chance to explain, or someone would have stood up for Cassie in front of their teacher.

James lashed out and slapped a tapestry as he arrived on the sixth floor.

He found Holly curled up in an armchair, the sole inhabitant of the Waterfall Room.

He lowered himself into a seat opposite her and waited for her to notice him. Eventually, her crying subsided, and she looked up to see who had intruded upon her privacy.

'Go away James, I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to talk to anyone.'

James found himself with his mouth half-opened, stunned. He hadn't expected _that._ Not from the girl who had offered to steal the most powerful map he had ever seen from some of the most powerful students, or who had tried to convince him to blackmail a teacher. Her shy exterior parted only for her friends, to give glimpses of the devious, sharp, and witty young lady she surely was to be. None of that showed here, though, as she pulled a pillow over her head in a pathetic attempt to block James out.

He moved over and sat down on the arm of her chair. She buried herself deeper into the cushions, as if she couldn't see him, so he couldn't see her either. He put a hand on her shoulder, and she flinched away from him. With a sad sigh James pulled it back and lay it in his lap.

'Holly, no one is going to believe those things that Viola is saying. I _know_ it wasn't you; everyone will believe me. It was–'

'No one is going to believe?' she snapped, throwing the cushion angrily aside and sitting up to face him. 'The entire Slytherin common room believes what she's saying. The entire Slytherin _House_ will believe her. She's a Greengrass James; her name _means_ something down there. I'm just – just a stupid halfblood who goes through other people's things.'

She let out an almighty howl, and the sobbing started again in earnest.

That statement stirred something in James, a faceless anger deep inside. That there were still people who held to any sort of notion of blood purity was a sickening thought. His family was – and continued to be – at the forefront of the Equality movement, but it was people like Viola Greengrass and her stupid, narrow-minded views that were making their job nigh impossible.

It was ever only those who benefited from these conceited views, that spent so much time perpetuation them. He never saw Muggleborn witches and wizards roaming the streets, wandless, sleeping in boxes, because they themselves were certain that their blood was not pure, and that they were unworthy to live as true wizards. There was something in that, James was sure.

'If Viola wants to say that stuff, then she's nothing more than a stupid, old hag,' James snarled, 'you don't need her, or any of them. _We_ are your friends Holly, we believe you, and we would never do anything like that to hurt you.'

This last statement left James with a pang of guilt. The way he saw it; trying to win the second F.A.R.T club was exactly that.

'You don't understand James, it's not like all the other houses down there. It's different; everyone is so concerned about status, and who has what over whom. Something like this – getting caught trying to blackmail and extort the entire year – this will stay with me forever now. I'll _always_ be the half-blood who isn't good enough, until I leave here. It's basically a death warrant James. I'd transfer now if my parents could afford it.'

The way she was talking was making James sick, was Slytherin really any different from the days that his father was at school? To hear Uncle Ron tell it, that was exactly how it was; a writhing, seething mass of snakes, snapping at everything in sight with no care if they bit friend, foe, or self.

'Well you can be a Gryffindor for tonight, or as many nights as you want. There is a spare bed in the first-year dormitory. You could sleep there–'

'James!' Holly squealed indignantly, 'I can't sleep in the _boys_ dormitory, that's… icky!'

Her smile, so briefly it lit up her tear-streaked face, faded once more.

'Besides, I have to go back. If I don't face them tonight, I don't know what will happen to me. They might even kick me out. I _have_ to show face James, to walk in and pretend like it didn't even happen, like they are all beneath me, or they will tear me to shreds. There's nothing you can do now James, any of you. I'm… alone.'

James' heart was aching, and he reached a hand out to touch her, but she shrugged him off again, standing up from her spot on the chair.

'At least come see the others,' James pleaded, 'we have all been worried sick about you. Cassie, too, she's… somethings happened. Come on, please?'

She sighed heavily and nodded. Wiping at her eyes before they exited the Waterfall Room. She walked a half-step ahead of James all the way down to the Library. In tandem, but not together, not any more.

They met the others just outside the Library. Fred, Clip, Cat and Tristan were walking Cassie to the Ravenclaw Tower. She had had enough of today, and wanted only to sleep, and to see her closest friend. They briefly swapped stories on what had befallen Holly, and another round of righteous fury from the young Gryffindors was stamped down on by aloof detachment from Holly.

There was silence for a time, but now it was awkward, unnerving, rather than the friendly, amicable comfort it usually offered. James was fidgeting, unsure if he should tell his friends about F.A.R.T club. He could already feel them drifting apart, would that confession put the final nail in the coffin?

Cat eventually just started walking off, and everyone just followed suit, en route to their respective dormitories. Cassie and Holly were about to turn to leave, when James closed his eyes, sighed in resignation and called.

'Guys, wait. I… I need to talk to you. In here, come on.'

He led Holly, Cassie and Tristan into a small side room, blessedly abandoned at this point in time.

'What is it James, can we make it quick? I just want to go to bed.' Cassie looked despondent, bloodshot eyes, her shoulders slumped, a very picture of defeat.

In his rampaging guilt, James felt something quite similar.

'All right, guys. I need to tell you all something. Please, don't be upset, I didn't know what was going to happen, and I'm really, really sorry.' All three of them now were looking at him with suspicious glares.

'So, before the last F.A.R.T club, the Lenders came and paid me a visit, like they did just after the first one, when you and I were in the hospital wing, Cassie. They said… they said that our team is still one of the favourites, and everyone is betting Galleons on us, so we have to lose, which would make them loads of money.

'They said that we had to finish anywhere outside of the top three. If – if we finished in the top three, they lose the money and they were going to do _something_ to us. To you guys. They said something about throwing Cassie into the lake, or dragging Holly out to the Forbidden Forest, but I think… I think this might be them instead.'

There, he had said it. The crushing weight released from his chest, and he was able to breathe again. He looked up at them, hopeful, wanting, needing to see his relief reflected back at him.

Instead he saw only anger, and pain.

'So this, this is _your_ fault?' Holly asked, her voice barely a whisper.

'No – I mean yes – I don't know.'

'You didn't even _talk_ to us? Ask us how _we_ felt about risking our livelihood for some _stupid game?'_ Where Holly had been quiet, Cassie was screaming loud enough to wake the dead.

'Guys, I'm sorry, I didn't think–'

'Damn right, you didn't think James Potter,' Holly growled, 'you just went ahead and did what you thought was right, what you wanted to do. Never mind that my friends could get _hurt._ No, as long as I get my name on that trophy it all doesn't matter.'

'What was it James, did you think you could play the game, too?' Cassie was advancing on him. She was only as tall as his chin, but he somehow felt himself shrinking away from her. 'Did you think you could make this a three-horse show? Lenders, R.U.S.T and James Sirius Potter, the greatest prodigy to ever set foot inside Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Whatever it is you're playing at James, I don't want a bar of it. I'm out, I'm done with you, done with this _ridiculous_ club. I'm done with all of it.'

With that she spun and marched towards the door, throwing it open with such force that it crashed against the wall and bounced closed again, but she was gone, and James didn't know if she would ever come back.

He turned to Holly with a pleading gaze.

'I can't believe it James. I thought you, of all people… but I guess I was wrong. Unwilling to blackmail a teacher, yet happy to ruin two of his supposed best friend's entire seven years at Hogwarts. That's what you've done, you see? Of course you don't. We're through James. If you show your face in the dungeons again, I won't be there to stop them from hexing you.'

And with a second tearing, rending sensation that ripped away a part of his own body, a second friend left for good.

James slid down the wall slowly, collecting in a heap on the floor. An awkward cough alerted him to the fact that Tristan was still in the room.

'What about you then?' James snapped, 'going to walk out on me too? Go on, follow the crowd. Hufflepuffs are good at that.'

Brief anger flickered across his friend's face, but it was quickly pushed aside.

'I don't blame you, old chap. Besides, we have detention on Saturday. Don't think I could avoid you if I tried. Father was never allowed to comment on the matter, but Mother often said a woman is always right. They might have a point here, maybe it would be a good idea to lie low for a bit, run in different circles for a while.'

He squatted down and lay a hand on James' shoulder.

'But you always know where I am if you need me, friend.'

With that, James was alone in the room, and he felt as if he were alone in the entire school.

The next few days were miserable for James, he tried on numerous occasions to talk to both Cassie and Holly, but they either ignored him, or outright told him to get lost. Each time he failed it took a little bit more out of him, until by the end of the Thursday he didn't think he would be able to take the punishment any more. He scored a D on his Transfiguration essay, and a T on a potions assignment. He couldn't bring himself to focus, couldn't bring himself to _care_ when there were more important things going on that a stupid essay to do.

Fred did little to help placate James, he teased him about taking out the competition in F.A.R.T club, and how _he_ was now sure to win. It took not five minutes of this ribbing before James stormed out of the common room to find a quiet place to sit and mope.

Clip and Cat were a little better, they offered comforting words and reassurances that the girls would see the right of it eventually. James nodded, and smiled in the right places, but he had his fill of banal niceties rather quickly, and once again found himself in search of solitude.

He needed to talk to Professor Longbottom, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. If he went to him and told him what had happened it would make it all real, like it would all be set in stone, unable to be undone. James got right up to his door on Thursday evening, his hand raised, poised to knock. He sighed, and dropped his fist, turning and fleeing back into the depths of the castle.

His only real consolation came from, of all places, Rain. She barged in on him alone in the Waterfall Room one evening, as he lay on the carpeted floor feeling incredibly sorry for himself.

'Hello James Potter I was wondering what was bringing me up here and it was you you're all alone and sad and Cassie wants to do some _very_ nasty things to you with her wand and so does Holly but that's okay they'll forgive you and there are other things to do anyway now.'

Evidently she was still reacting badly to that medication.

'Hello Rain, I just kind of want to be alone right now. I'm not in the mood for any weird dizzy spells tonight.'

'Oh good I was wondering if that was happening again that's good news that means it's working but I won't do it if you don't want at least not tonight anyway – achoo!'

She punctuated her sentence with an enormous sneeze, and shot six feet in the air, nearly banging her head on the ceiling before drifting back down again, giggling all the while.

'Oh dear I have lots of energy now and that means extra magic so sometimes it just pops out and does things like that ooh and this one time I was on the toilet and–'

'No, no, no!' James squealed. 'I do _not_ need to hear that story. Please, Rain.' In spite of himself he was smiling. It was the happiest he had felt in days.

'Strange that's what Cassie said too she says a lot of things mostly about you these days I don't think she really blames you but she wanted a perfect record and now she has a T and the best she can get is an A if she gets _every single question_ right between now and the final exam I don't even know if she is that clever is anyone that clever?'

James didn't even know where to begin responding to that, but if Rain thought Cassie didn't blame him, maybe there was some hope.

'Now that they aren't talking to you and you don't have F.A.R.T club any more you can hang out with me again and we can do things like exploring the eighth floor again we only ever did it once and then never again and _ohmygosh!'_

Her gasp startled James, and he looked around to see what the disaster was.

'You have been exploring with someone else behind my back haven't you James Potter how could you I thought what we had was special!'

'No!' James cried, 'I haven't, I haven't been at all, everything else has been so crazy lately I just sort of forgot about it.'

She shot him a distrusting look.

'You looked so happy last time we went like it was where you were meant to be like the eighth floor wanted you there or maybe it was the Heart that wanted you there did you ever think about that?'

James had thought a _lot_ about that, but he wasn't sure he wanted to admit it just yet.

'Err…'

'You know what I think I think we should try and find it I bet we could you're the best explorer I've ever been with and I'm the best fun you've ever been with and together we can find it!'

James put his head in his hands, he wasn't sure that he could take a whole night of exploring with her like this, it would leave him completely worn out the next day. On the other hand, the Heart was no less enticing that when he had first been up there. He could still use it to power Wren's map, somehow. He felt like if he could find it and just _see_ it, then the answers would be there before him, written in some sort of code that only he could read or understand. Even now, as he thought about the Heart, he felt its familiar tug on him, upwards, ever upwards it called him.

'Maybe, maybe sometime next week Rain,' he offered, 'I think I'd like that.'

She clapped and ran over to give him a hug where he lay, and ended up just falling down on top of him. She lay there for a while, her head on his chest, arms spread eagled. James was frowning at the top of her head. Had her potions stopped working, had she crashed again?

'So this is what it feels like,' he heard her whisper.

'What?'

'Nothing James Potter!' with that she sprang to her feet and skipped all the way to the door, her blue dress bouncing along with her. At the door she spun, turned and _blew James a kiss_ and left.

Maybe the day wasn't so bad after all.

On Friday Fred cornered James after their double-Defence class, in which James had been skewered by baleful glares from Holly on one hand, and suspicious glances from Professor Meadows on the other. Both refused to acknowledge his presence outside of those acts.

'Mate, Saturday night is Holly's birthday. We are going to grab some food from the kitchens and head up the astronomy tower and have a night-time picnic. Get her as far away from the rest of those snakes as possible. She's been having a pretty rough week, by all accounts. She said it'd be all right if you came though. I think maybe she wants you there, maybe she's not so dark on you after all. I dunno, but it'd be good if you came.'

James opened his mouth to say that of course he would come, especially if there was a chance at making things right with Holly, but he caught Professor Meadows exiting the class behind Fred and his stomach clenched.

'I… I can't Freddy, I've got something else on that night. Something I really have to go and do.'

Fred shot him a confused look.

'It won't be weird if you come, mate, honestly. It won't be the same without you. No one is going to hex you, promise. Well, I might, but only if you drink all the pumpkin juice.'

'No it's not that Fred, I _really_ want to come, but there's something else I have to do that night, and I don't think I can get out of it.'

'You'll be missing out, it's a full moon. Should be nice, if you're into that. Who am I going to Charm trifle at now? What is it that you've got on, anyway?

James sighed, he had been hoping it wouldn't come to this.

'I can't say mate, trust me, I would if I could.'

Fred just gave a shrug and they headed off to lunch together.

Saturday morning, as James opened up a Transfiguration textbook to have a half-hearted attempt at studying, a note fell out into his lap.

 _Waterfall Room – now. Wren_

By this stage, the fact that someone had been through his bag and left the note was little to be alarmed about. Evidently the older students just did exactly as they pleased, and first-year privacy was of little import. He packed up his bag, pleased at any distraction, and headed off to meet his sponsors, despite the fact that he was less than sure that they even had a team to sponsor in the first place.

Once in the Waterfall Room, the door closed sharply behind him, and the two bodyguards, Left and Right, he called them, for want of a better name, took up their positions outside.

The rest of the team was sitting there, pointedly not looking at each other, or at Wren and Nero, who were looking thunderous where they stood.

James took a seat next to Tristan, as far away as he could get from Holly and Cassie, just to be safe.

'This is going to be a brief meeting,' Wren snapped, 'we initially called you here to let you know we will shortly have access to the new rule set for the third F.A.R.T club Hunt.'

Nero chuckled quietly to himself, looking all-too-pleased.

'Evidently some of you have taken it upon yourselves to attempt to disband the team, and withdraw from F.A.R.T.' James was glad that it wasn't him on the receiving end of the glare she was shooting at Cassie and Holly. 'Rest assured, that this _is not an option_. You _will_ complete the third and fourth tasks, and you _will_ win the competition. We have invested a lot of time and effort into this venture and we _will not have it come to nothing because children refuse to play nice!'_

Nero leaned forward and took up the reins, which James was glad of, as it appeared Wren had been about to have a coronary.

'We don't care about your little infighting, kiddies. You weren't the only ones who suffered backlash from the Butterbeer incident, believe me. You were very far from the worst-affected, so I suggest you stop acting like the spoilt little children that everyone thinks you are, and start behaving like grown-ups capable of winning this damn tournament.

'Brooks, you have our protection against any physical harm that may be directed your way, anything else is on you. You got yourself into this mess, you can weather the storm. Featherstone, we're trying to pull some strings, but it doesn't look good. Best bet is to study hard, but by all accounts that's all you ever do anyway, so that shouldn't be an issue.

'Believe me when I say, we are in this for the long haul children. We are a little over halfway, and things have only just started heating up. When we said you were going to need to band together, we weren't just blowing hot air. We meant it, we still do. See to it, or we will be forced to take less… savoury means of coercion.'

That was a clear dismissal, and James wandered out at the back of the group, bewildered, and a little frightened. If he ended up with both R.U.S.T and the Lenders onto them, they'd be shipping what was left of him back to his parents in a shoe box.

'James, could you wait behind for a bit,' Holly called, once they were out in the corridor. She was looking down at her shoes, fidgeting with her wand in both hands. His heart leapt, maybe Nero had managed to talk her into apologising after all.

Once the hallway was clear, she looked up at him. James was a little confused by what he saw glimmering in her eyes.

'It's my birthday today James,' she began.

Uh oh.

'It was going to be my one chance to celebrate, to get away from everyone calling me such wicked names, saying such hurtful things. One day I was going to spend with my real friends, where I didn't have to be looking over my back all the time, ducking hexes and jinxes in the corridors.'

'Holly, please I–'

'But James Potter can't make it, because he has something _more important_ on. Something he won't tell his friends about. Gee, this sounds a little familiar to me, I wonder what happened last time you pulled something like this. Surely nothing bad.

'Whatever game you are playing James, I want no part of it. Whatever secret meeting you are holding, keep my name out of it. You've done enough for me, and I've had it with you.'

'Holly please, it's not like that. I want to tell you, I just can't.'

She screamed, and shoved him up against the wall. He hit it hard, the wind knocked out of him.

'No James! Wrong answer!'

He sighed, and pushed past her. He had been getting this all week, he had Merlin-only-knows what detention coming his way tonight, and he just wanted to rest.

'You know what Holly, I've had enough too, and I don't need this. I have my own stuff on, stuff where I'm not going to get shouted at, so if you'll excuse me–'

He didn't even finish the sentence before with a howl of rage, his once-friend whipped her wand up in a vicious arc, to face him, and screamed, ' _Stupefy!'_

When James regained consciousness it was six p.m. and he was sitting in a bed in the Hospital Wing, contemplating just how far they all had fallen.


	15. Chapter 15

James dashed in through the doors to Professor Meadows' office at precisely one minute to seven p.m. He had had to make a daring escape from Madam Petheridge's clutches using only a decoy detonator, two woollen blankets, a small goblet of tomato juice and a rubber chicken which had been fortuitously stashed in the bottom of his bag. It was like one of Professor Meadows' own homework tests, except all he got as a reward was detention.

Truth be told he wasn't exactly feeling one hundred percent; that Stunner that Holly had hit him with had been a good one. It had left him with a bit of a lingering headache, and a slight dreamy feeling, where he wasn't able to concentrate on anything too hard. This culminated in him walking smack bang into a suit of armour up on the second floor, sending them both tumbling to the ground in a chorus of squawks and crashes, and had nearly made James late for his detention.

When he finally arrived in the room only a few candles were sputtering in their brackets, and an eerie half-light was dancing coyly about the room. Professor Meadows looked up from her desk, where she had been tying fastenings on a large pack. Teddy stood behind her at an awkward distance, caught between reaching out to help, and pulling back each time she shot him a venomous look. Poor Tristan was standing in front of the desk, trying to look anywhere but at the pair, one hand resting on a pack identical to the one the professor was tying up.

As James pulled the door shut behind him, Professor Meadows looked up, then across to her clock, then back at him. She pursed her lips and nodded curtly at the object on her desk.

'This one is yours, Potter,' was all she offered.

James strode up to the table, trying to catch Tristan's eye as he passed, but his friend was very pointedly looking down, studying his shoelaces. With a sigh, James reached out a little cautiously to take the pack. He slipped his arms through the straps and hefted it. It was _heavy._ He staggered back two, three steps, and then fell flat on his bottom onto the unforgiving flagstones.

Tristan let out a loud squeal of laughter before he could stop himself, and Professor Meadows skewered him with a very level gaze. Teddy stepped forward and grabbed James by the collar, hoisting him unceremoniously to his feet.

'Thanks, Teddy,' James said brightly, hoping for a response in kind.

Teddy just grunted.

James sighed, and steadied himself with a hand on a nearby desk. Professor Meadows strode around her table, her now-familiar step-thump rhythm brisk and businesslike. She came to a stop facing James and Tristan. A brief shot of pain flashed across her face, and she bent down to rub at her thigh almost subconsciously. Teddy stepped in to offer her support, but she waved him away curtly. He just grunted again, sullen.

'We are going to the eighth floor today. I have a job that needs doing up there. You two are my trusty mules. As such, I expect a masterclass in mule good behaviour from each of you. Carry the packs, keep up with the group, and, of course, no biting.'

'What are we–?'

'Uh, uh! I'm yet to have met a mule who talks, Potter. I suggest you don't attempt to be the first.'

With that, she threw a decorative little satchel bag over her shoulder, and strode out the classroom without waiting for any of them. Teddy hurried to keep up, and James and Tristan shared a forlorn glance, before bracing themselves and tramping off as well.

Evidently, being seen was not the order of the day, as Professor Meadows led them at a brisk pace through several back corridors and secret passages that James had been sure nobody except his F.A.R.T team and sponsors would have known about. She missed two that would have got them there in half the time, but James-the-Mule was obviously unable to speak up and point them out.

They reached the entrance to the eighth floor having encountered only a single couple; a pair of older Ravenclaw students, who had been vigorously making out in a shadowy alcove. Professor Meadows had sent them on their way sharply, with a pair of well-aimed Stinging Hexes to the backsides, and a bevy of foul language to chase them down the hall.

The journey so far had been every bit as awkward as James had imagined. He felt like he was carrying a fully-grown Mountain Troll on his back, his muscles were aching, sweat was beginning to trickle down his neck despite the chilly temperature. Every time he tried to start up a conversation with Tristan, who was attempting to avoid eye contact anyway, Teddy or Professor Meadows would spear them with heated glares. The professor was obviously feeling the effects of a long day on her feet, and as they climbed the numerous staircases, her limp was becoming more and more pronounced. Teddy kept making to slide in and offer an arm for support, or to carry her bag for her, but each time she slapped him away angrily.

Outside of those brief, heated exchanges, that was the only noise among their labouring quartet. James wondered fleetingly at what it was that was making her so upset at Teddy, but before long the weight of his pack was all that consumed his world.

The group pushed through the unobtrusive door into the most magical part of the castle, and James immediately collapsed to the floor, gasping in great lungfuls of chilly night air. Professor Meadows spun to glare at him, but her expression softened slightly as she saw the look on his face, and she relented.

'Very well, a five minute break for the mules, and then we carry on.'

She gestured sharply for Teddy to follow her and the pair separated themselves from James and Tristan a small way, almost instantly engaging in a whisper-shouting debate.

James was sat opposite an open window, and the cool breeze that crept in was a welcome respite. He unbuttoned his robe and let the frigid air envelope him, to the point where he began to shiver. Now that his mind wasn't so fixated on carrying the enormously heavy backpacks, he began to notice a familiar feeling creeping back. It started in his extremities, his fingers and toes had an odd, lightweight feeling, almost a soft tingling. They felt like they wanted to touch all the surfaces, walk all the corridors, and engage with every single piece of this wondrous Wing of the castle. His stomach was filled with butterflies, and there was an anticipatory, eager sensation within his chest, pulling him onwards, upwards, calling to _him_ , and him alone.

It could only be the Heart.

He turned to ask Tristan if he was feeling the same thing, but the angry whispers from Teddy and Professor Meadows had risen in volume, and the subject of their debate piqued his interest.

'– can't _believe_ you. Going straight to _Harry_ to get an Auror assigned to this task. This is School business, what in Merlin's name would I need you here for?' That from an irate Professor Meadows, who was leaning heavily on the wall, her cheeks flushed a brilliant red.

Teddy held his hands up defensively, looking a touch hurt.

'I thought you might have needed some help, or might have liked the company. Besides, we have hardly talked since,' his eyes flicked across to James, who instantly gazed off up at the ceiling, 'you know.'

James brought his eyes back down and witnessed what could only be described as the perfect storm of the wrong things to say. The professor's eyes bulged, she was visibly grinding her teeth, and her fists clenched and unclenched rapidly. James was wondering if she might take off her leg and belt Teddy with it, he had heard that was what happened if you received a 'T' in her classes.

'Need some _help?'_ she practically spat the word. Teddy was shrinking back against the wall under the wrath of a bright-eyed, blonde-haired terror. 'So according to the great Teddy Lupin, because I'm missing a leg, I automatically become _unable_ to perform my job? Or is it because I'm a _woman?_ Oh, there's complicated magic to perform. Surely little Zoe Meadows won't be able to do _that._ I'd better come along to make sure she _does. It. Right.'_

The last three words were punctuated by slaps to Teddy's chest. He made to comfort her, but was pushed angrily away.

'Come on,' Zoe snapped, looked over at James and Tristan, 'we're moving.'

From that point on Teddy fell into a rear guard position, and had very little else to say.

The group lurched into motion again, James hefting his heavy pack once more with a forlorn sigh. A small object came out of Professor Meadows' satchel bag, which she held out before her as they moved up the first corridor.

It was a sort of spherical cage, perhaps the size of a large grapefruit, constructed of brass or copper, with two handles on either side. James picked up his pace to walk in-step with Professor Meadows to get a closer look. Every single tiny bar of the cage, little more than the width of a blade of grass, was covered in Runic etchings. The metalwork itself was a thing of beauty, with the bars to the cage forming the shapes of waves and land, on what James assumed was the bottom half, and delicate clouds, on the top half. The very top was dominated by a wrought sun, resplendent with rays of light arcing down towards the seas.

He admired it, awestruck, it was _beautiful._ Inside the cage, through the bars, James could see a small, black needle, the size of his little finger. It was hovering, suspended by magic, pointing firmly toward the end of the corridor. He watched as they approached the intersection, and it hesitated barely a heartbeat before pointing to the left-hand corridor. James couldn't help but gasp. This was it, the map, the way through the eighth floor.

The secret to getting to the Heart.

Professor Meadows looked down when James gasped. Her eyes were a little watery, her face set in a stern frown. When she saw the look of wonderment on James' own face, her scowl slowly evaporated, and she sighed softly.

'Beautiful, isn't it?' she whispered.

James only nodded, unwilling to break the magic of the moment with something as ungainly as his own voice.

'It's an Anchor, it's what the teachers use to move around on the Eighth floor. You simply tell it where you want to go, and it will direct you. It's for the teachers that weren't part of the Hundred, and for the future, you know, when all the witches and wizards that made the eighth floor are gone, if we can't fix it in time. It isn't perfect, and isn't as good as actually being part of the Hundred. That alone gives you a lot of control over where you are headed up here, but it was the best that the Headmistress could manage.

'Personally I think it is one of the most exquisite pieces of magic performed by an individual that I have ever seen.'

James nodded again, he felt like one of his bobble-head Quidditch figurines he kept on his bedside table.

'So how does it…'

'Work? Well, it's in the name, really. It Anchors the eighth floor, to a certain extent, along the path which you need to take to get to your destination. As you have probably noticed, nothing up here will change while you are observing it. For whatever reason, when there is someone inside a room it will stay as whatever that room was from the moment they enter, until the moment that they leave. Two people walking into the same door one after the other will always end up in the same room, so long as someone is actually _present_ in that room.

'What the Anchor does, is project the phenomenon of observation along the path that the user intends to take. It sort of tricks the eighth floor into thinking that there is someone in this corridor, or that room, all along the path to your intended destination. Therefore, the eighth floor won't change along that path, as it thinks it is being _observed._ '

James tried to take it all in, only half of it was really making sense. He needed Cassie to help explain it better. That thought sent a pang of sadness through him momentarily. The way that he saw it, the eighth floor was like a cheeky child, and every time you weren't looking at it, it was up to something behind your back. The Anchor was basically giving you eyes in the back of your head, and the next room, and the entire house. How had Headmistress McGonagall even _come up with_ that idea?

'If it can do that, how come it isn't perfect? James asked.

Professor Meadows paused briefly, and shot him with an appraising look.

'That's a really good question James, I'm impressed. The magic of the Anchors, and their crafting, comes from a single witch: the Headmistress. The eighth floor was crafted by the Hundred, and so the magic is much, much stronger. The eighth floor doesn't _want_ to be tamed, if that makes sense, it seems that whatever causes it to shift and change is chaotic in its very nature. While the Anchor is an ingenious solution, and exploits a very clever crack in the randomness of the eighth floor, the floor, and the Castle itself, is constantly trying to fight back, and thus will often overpower the magic of the Anchor. All it really means is that we will probably end up in a few broom closets before we get to the Heart.'

James had been interested in their task before, but with those two words he was positively enraptured.

'The Heart?' he asked, trying not to sound _too_ eager. That strange feeling was still there, urging him onwards. _Right_. He thought as they came to another intersection. But the Anchor pointed left, and so left they went. That was odd, why should he have any idea where they were going?

'I suppose it wasn't going to be a secret for long,' Zoe smiled, 'yes, we are going to the Heart. I suppose you have heard about all the attacks lately, your father thinks that the Heart may be another potential target, and so we are going to increase the protection. Those are Runic Cornerstones that you are carrying in your bags. I… I wouldn't have been able to carry them myself. You ought not to use any magic on them other than the intended warding spells; they are highly unstable. Otherwise I would have just levitated them up myself, obviously.'

'Hmm, obviously,' James agreed. He hadn't even _thought_ to use magic to lighten the packs. What sort of a wizard was he? He chalked that one up to the aftereffects of Holly's outburst, yes that was definitely it. He was conveniently ignoring the fact that ever since they had got up to the eighth floor he had felt invigorated, fresh as if he had just woken from a long slumber.

The next door that they opened led them into a tiny store cupboard, with no discernible exit. Zoe searched around for a while, before cursing at the Anchor, and gesturing everyone to back out. She shook it, and traced a pattern on the surface with her wand. James watched as the needle spun wildly, and then froze, pointing towards a dingy, rotting door across the hall from where they stood. With an idle shrug, she led them off again.

The door lead to a much more grandiose hallway than it suggested, with black and white marble flagstones, and flickering torches interspersed with gilded suits of armour lining both walls. Floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows offered unobstructed views of the starry night sky, and a gibbous moon shooting silver light to compete with the flickering orange glow from the torches. James could barely see the end of the hallway, as it seemed to stretch on forever.

'I didn't mean to take all this out on you, James,' Zoe eventually offered, a little out of the blue, 'I always promised your father I'd look out for the three of you while you were here. He did so much for me, getting me the job, and helping me back on my feet after the accident. Or _foot_ , I suppose.

'I just… I find it hard, sometimes. Ever since I was young, I was going to be an Auror. I was so certain, it sort of became who I was, my identity, I suppose. Princess Auror, my father used to call me. It's a take on a muggle story… Anyway, now, after all those years of hard work, to have it taken away in the blink of an eye… I just find it hard to struggle on, sometimes.'

James was torn between despair and shock. Professor Meadows often looked a little harried, or worn-down, but he had dismissed it as her being young and not ready for the job of teaching. The fact that she was so depressed as to tell _him_ of all people about it, was an alarming realization.

'You remind me of your father a lot,' she continued, 'or – at least – what I think he would have been like at your age. I guess, what I'm trying to say, telling you all this stuff I shouldn't be telling you, is that I'm sorry. Next time, I'll try not to lose my head, I've managed to perfect that to a bit of an art lately, and I think poor Teddy has really copped the front of it.'

James didn't really know where to go from here. He was more than a little confused about the whole Teddy-Zoe-Victoire situation. He had been under the impression that once you kissed somebody the way he had seen Zoe and Teddy kissing, that was it, you were basically married. Or something. It seemed like all they had done since then was fight. He eventually decided on a supportive smile and nod of the head, which was enough to satiate the professor for now.

The group lapsed into silence, perhaps a little less awkward than it had been up to this point. Four sets of footsteps birthed four sets of echoes with each footfall, until it sounded as if an invisible soul was following them along the corridor, playing an out-of-rhythm drumbeat behind them. It did little to reduce the eerie nature of their environs.

Slowly, the end of the passage approached. James squinted as they neared it, trying to make out the outline of a doorframe, but none was apparent to his eyes. Only featureless black marble sealed off the end of the corridor, two sputtering torches held in brackets, slightly above Teddy's head height.

As they all came to an uneasy stop before the wall, with James and Tristan shifting uncomfortably under the weight of their packs, the two first-years shared uncertain glances. James looked up questioningly to Professor Meadows, but her gaze was fixated on a spot in the wall exactly half way between the two torches. Teddy was standing half a step back from them all, his mouth slightly agape. Were they lost? James shivered, despite the fact that he was sheathed in sweat from exertion. That was a scary thought; being lost in the eighth floor, faced with a dead end.

He started surreptitiously checking the more shadowy recesses of the hallway for anything that might look like a Lethifold.

As if she had been reading his very thoughts, Zoe looked down and shot James a calming smile. It turned quickly into a cheeky grin, and she _winked_ at him, before stepping forwards and placing her palm flat on the wall.

She stood, legs shoulder-width apart, one arm out at chest height, the other holding her wand loosely at her side. She shifted slightly, transferring her weight onto her real foot, and closed her eyes. James looked on, unsure of what secret ritual or hidden passage he was about to be privy to, but fully aware that to speak now was to shatter the magic of the moment.

'I seek the Heart, for mine own is pure. Look to me, know that I am of you, even as you are of me.'

Her voice startled James; it came from her mouth, but it sounded nothing like his professor. It was deep, resonating, and imperious. It sounded as if it were coming from a mile away, and at the same time from right next to his ear. James was too shocked to realise that her lips hadn't moved at all, and the voice that spoke left no trace of an echo.

An unseen and unannounced breeze wafted down the hallway, stirring the professor's shoulder-length hair, toying with messy strands, and tugging at the edges of her robe. James caught a glimpse of knee-high, heeled, black boots, obscuring her false lower leg. A gentle humming filled the air around them, and James had to resist the urge to put a hand out to a nearby pillar to see if it was vibrating.

Before their very eyes, the dull, marble began to ripple outward from where Professor Meadows' hand was placed. Slowly at first, like a pebble dropped into a calm pool, the stone shuddered, radiating from where her skin made contact. James felt his jaw slide open as the ripples bounced back off of _nothing_ , off of a seemingly-innocuous section of stone. The frequency intensified, the ripples pulsating as if in time with a racing heartbeat. They met each other in random patterns, and were destroyed each time in a tiny shower of golden sparks. James looked on as the places where they rebounded, and collided with each other began to form a shape, an archway. Soon, he could not see the wall beneath the arch, as shower after shower of golden sparks were cascading down, burning bright as thousands of tiny suns. He felt the light, the heat, as if he were standing in front of an open furnace. He held a hand to his face, trying to shield his searing eyes. His open mouth might have screamed, he knew not. The light burned him, within him, through him. He felt himself being carried away, far up, up towards the sky. He tried to open his eyes, but saw only brightness. The sensation that was gripping him let go, and he felt himself falling. He really did scream now, in panic and fear. He couldn't open his eyes, he was falling to the ground, and he held his hands out, as if to protect himself, like they would cushion his fall. His eyes refused to see. Panic clutched at his throat, despair was dragging him down, ever down…

As suddenly as it had begun, the sensation ceased. James found himself standing, very much unharmed, and feeling as if he had been _cleansed_ , in front of an archway filled with molten gold. Professor Meadows looked down to him with a smile, and gestured.

'Welcome, dear friends, to the Heart of Hogwarts.'


	16. Chapter 16

James stared unceasingly at the cascade of liquid gold that roiled ever downwards beneath the archway in the black marble wall. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The feeling of incessant pulling, of yearning, was dragging him forwards, telling him to step through that archway, to take a step _into_ the Heart of Hogwarts. He wasn't sure if it was his own struggling will, or Zoe's hand on his shoulder that was stopping him from actually doing it, but either one was fighting a losing battle.

It tumbled like a waterfall, and at the same time fluttered like a curtain in a gentle breeze. Small eddies and currents appeared in the flow, as if it were a river. Each time James looked it changed, and each time it took his breath away anew. He was beginning to lean forwards into it. It was less than three steps away, he could make that before anyone stopped him, surely.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself to make the dash.

Professor Meadow's head jumped into his vision, breaking his eye contact with the Heart, and snapping the sensation as if cutting a taut rope. He staggered slightly beneath the recoil.

'Are you listening James?' she asked, exasperated.

'Er...'

She pulled him around by the shoulders to face the others. James could see flickers of gold reflecting in both Tristan and Teddy's wide, awestruck eyes. The professor pulled them all down, into a sports-like huddle, and began to speak. As she did so the sound of the waterfall seemed to increase steadily in James' ears, until he could barely control the urge to turn and look at it again.

'… need to place the two stones in the archway, and then activate them. James, Tristan, inside your packs are two building stones, keystones, in fact. They are Runic Anchors, or Cornerstones, and they form the basis for the Warding upgrade that we are applying to the Heart. Through that doorway,' she gestured behind her to the Arch, 'there is a room within. Two similar archways span the length of the room, both currently set with a mundane sandstone Key. The two that we have brought have been inscribed and imbibed to a level far beyond that which any of us is capable of, and once they are placed in the correct location, and activated by me, the Warding Sequence will initiate, and the Heart will be locked up tighter than a Hag in a Whorehouse.'

Tristan chuckled, Teddy's face flushed, and the tips of his hair turned a bright scarlet.

'Lupin, seeing as you were intent on coming along, you take MacMillan and head left through the doorway. Gouge out the current Keystone _carefully_ and levitate in the Runic one. It'll crackle and pop a little bit when you touch it with magic, but provided you're quick, it won't matter. Once you've done that then you turn around and move that tight little bottom of yours out of that room as fast as you did that time I caught you with your hand up Penelope Green's skirt in the Library in sixth year.'

Teddy's hair was entirely red by the time Zoe had mentioned his bottom, and James felt a healthy flush in his own cheeks. Teddy nodded sheepishly and returned to studying the floor.

'James, you're with me. Hold my hand, don't under any circumstances let go of it unless I say so. I will take you to the other arch, and we will do the same. Once the others are out I will activate the Wards, and we will have a hair less time than it takes Teddy to disappoint aforementioned Hag in which to get out of there.'

For some reason Teddy spontaneously burst into a _very_ aggressive coughing fit at this moment, and James caught a flicker of some sinister sort of pleasure in his professor's usually-innocent eyes.

'Is everyone clear on the plan? Keep your wits about you kiddies, it's a dangerous place in there. There's magic far beyond anything any of us could ever dream of performing. Powerful stuff like that has a way of talking to you, of enticing you. Power draws power, as they say. Don't touch anything, stay close together, do _exactly_ as I say, and do not, I repeat _do not_ touch the mist. Got it?'

James nodded a little nervously. The Heart was beginning to sound more and more sinister by the minute. He had envisioned some sort of shining, glowing orb, hovering in the centre of a room, perhaps pulsating quietly, giving off a benevolent light. This talk of killer mists and encapsulating power was fast replacing his eager anticipation with clammy dread.

'Ok children, let's get this Hippogriff in the air. Potter, you're with me.'

With a complete disregard for any shred of James' dignity, she slapped him square on the arse, grabbed him by then hand, and gently pulled him forwards.

James stepped towards the golden archway, hesitant all of a sudden. He looked back nervously at Tristan, who offered only a shrug in response. Professor Meadows was gripping his hand tightly, their fingers linked. Her skin was warm to the touch, and soft, her grip firm and sure. He tried to draw confidence from that, and took a deep breath, steadying himself as they both plunged through the barrier together.

A fleeting sensation of being stood beneath a tepid waterfall, and they were through. Professor Meadows calmly surveyed their surroundings, her wand out and levelled, while James spluttered and batted at his clothing, expecting it to be drenched.

'It's not an _actual_ waterfall, James,' she scolded, not unkindly.

'Oh, er, right. I knew that,' he mumbled, his cheeks burning.

She gave a musical laugh, and tugged on his hand, making out for their destination together.

Now that James' brief moment of panic and lingering feeling of embarrassment were fading, he took the time to survey his surroundings. They were in the _Heart of Hogwarts_ after all. He spun about as much as he could, drinking in every sight, every corner of the room, as they marched briskly to their destination.

All in all, James was quite disappointed.

The room itself was palatial in scale, bigger across than most houses, and with a lofty ceiling many, _many_ times James' own height. Multiple archways similar to the golden one through which they had just entered dotted each of the four walls. Unlike their archway, none of these were filled with the golden waterfall. Instead they stood empty, an impossible blackness filling each and every one. There were no windows; the walls stood as bare, slate-grey marble, veined here and there with stylolitic traces of gold and more of that inky blackness. Light within the room felt natural to James, despite its lack of source. There were no shadows, he realised upon looking down at the black-and-white tiled floor.

The magnificent Arches that Professor Meadows described were impossible to miss. They divided the giant room into thirds, each section easily as large as the Great Hall on its own. They had entered in the centre third, and were making their way hurriedly to the Arch on the right. Two great supporting pillars, like giant arms, were reaching down to the floor. Each one was so broad that the four of them could have linked arms and still not been able to span the circumference. His eyes were drawn upwards towards the centre of the Arch, searching for the Keystone that they would have to remove and replace. He found it; the single innocuous wedge of dull grey sandstone, holding in place an entire structure on a scale that defied belief. He hoped that the professor's aim was true, he could barely see the stone from the ground, let alone aim a Gouging Spell at it.

A scuffling noise from behind them caused James to jump and look about frantically; he saw Teddy and Tristan stumble through the entrance, and tear off toward their own Arch, at a much quicker, more frantic pace than their own. As he turned his head back to focus on his own destination he caught something out of the corner of his eye; a flicker of movement.

He spun wildly to face it. Was someone else in there with them? Professor Meadows tugged hard on his hand, they were nearly beneath the Keystone now, and the colossal Archway towered above them both, implacable in its assured dominance of the room.

'Don't stop, James,' the professor hissed. James looked up to see sweat trickling down her cheeks, and her eyes were now drawn and tight, wrinkles creasing their corners. She held her wand in a death-grip, and her limp was more pronounced than ever.

A little scared now, James turned back and huddled in close to the professor, squeezing her hand a little tighter. They reached their destination without further incident, and James gladly dumped the pack on the ground between them. It landed with a heavy crunch.

Immediately, Professor Meadows brought up her wand and growled 'Defodio!' James watched as a swath was carved easily through the Keystone. She repeated the spell again and again, each time grinding away a little more, and showering the pair in a hail of fine dust and mortar. Soon they were both coughing and James had his free hand up, shielding his eyes.

As her spellcasting continued, James watched his professor become more and more tired. She had already seemed strained when they arrived here – though James knew not why – but now she was really struggling. Tears were mixing with the sweat streaking down her face. Her hair was plastered to her forehead. She was shaking bodily from exhaustion or exertion, and a trickle of blood was running slowly down from her nose. She was visibly sagging, and before James' eyes, her false leg gave way, and she tumbled to one knee. Her teeth gritted fiercely, and she continued steadily grinding away at the stone far above them.

Uncertainty was beginning to make itself very familiar to James by now. What was the Heart doing to drain her of so much strength? All James could see was an empty room, similar to the corridor that they had walked up to get here, albeit on a much larger scale. The air was pregnant with the feel of latent power, but he felt no pull on his own senses, no draining of his own reserves. Unless, and the thought shocked him suddenly; was Zoe protecting him? Was she shielding him from the magic of the Heart, a power that by all accounts would tear an untrained child such as himself to shreds? He swallowed hard, and moved in closer to his professor, offering her a steadying arm for support.

That was when he saw it again, a flicker of ghostly movement, from the corner of his vision. He turned, and again saw nothing, but the feeling remained with him. Everywhere he looked he seemed to be catching movement in his periphery, and now snippets of sound were accompanying them. Was that laughter? Crying? He thought he saw a shadowy figure emerge from behind one of the pillars and nearly screamed, but when he looked closer there was naught to be seen.

Mercifully, Zoe soon finished her spellwork, and they stood together, coated in a fine grey powder. She coughed twice, spat a mouthful of bloody phlegm, and gestured for James to open the backpack. He did so hurriedly, panic betraying him and causing his hands to shake. He looked over at Teddy and Tristan, but couldn't see them through a shifting, boiling mist that seemed to have risen from the very floor.

'Just hurry!' growled his professor.

He obeyed, all the while his heart rate increasing, his breathing coming in short, sharp bursts.

The pack fell away to reveal a wedge-shaped voussoir, etched all over in flowing, linked runes. They glowed a lambent orange, as if they were revealing a glimpse of a fiery core within. James could feel the magic rolling off them in waves, like heat, and took an involuntary step back, pulling the professor's arm tight, as she still firmly held his hand.

She snarled fiercely, and gestured to the spot where she had removed the previous stone. Trails of dust were falling down occasionally, and as he watched the Arch gave an uncertain groan, causing James to emit a squeal of fright.

All around them the shifting mists were beginning to close in.

'You need to levitate it, Potter. I need… save strength to activate… Keep this at bay.'

James stared at her, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. _Him?_ Levitate the block? At the start of the term he had barely been able to levitate a feather; this thing must have weighed as much as he did, easily. And what was it Professor Meadows had said to Teddy, that it would " _crackle and pop"_ if he tried to use magic on it. He took a step back, shaking his head vigorously in the negative.

'Look at me, Potter. Do you think I can fucking do it?' her cursing caught James off-guard, and he didn't have time to answer. 'Or do _you_ want to try and keep this mist back? Without me here, it'd eat us alive, we'd be lost in here forever. Starve, disappear, and fade into the castle itself as less than a ghost, not even a memory. The Heart doesn't like being fucked with Potter, and right now we're all four standing here wearing twelve inch strap-ons. Buck up your game or we're all going to pay for it.'

James swallowed hard, and tightened the grip on his wand. He knew he didn't have a choice. He knew his father wouldn't have even hesitated. He would probably have had it up in the slot by now. He looked over to see how Teddy and Tristan were doing, but the mist was thick, and moving ever closer. Shapes and sounds drifted out of it towards James. Figures, faces, words were all seeming to call to him, inviting him to join them.

A sharp _crack_ across the back of his head and James snapped out of it, turning to the task at hand.

 _Swish and flick._

 _Levi-ohh-sa._

'Wingardium Leviosa!'

He watched, a little amazed, as the heavy stone leapt up off the floor, jumping to waist height. He immediately felt the drain on his magic, much more than anything he had ever felt before, must more than he thought it should be. He gestured his wand upwards, towards the centre of the Arch, but instead of moving, it shot forth a tongue of carmine flame, licking both James and Zoe, sending them reeling back to the floor, the stone tumbling down to join them.

James tried desperately to gather his wits. He was unharmed, more frightened than anything. Zoe, however, was doubled over her wand-arm; where a moment ago there had been the sleeve of her robe, there was now only angry, red skin, the cloth seared clean away. Blisters were already forming, but James' attention was ripped away by something else.

The mist, sensing Zoe's attention was torn, and taking advantage of a crack in her defences, rushed in frantically. It was an unstoppable wave cresting above, bearing down, ready to crash over them and sweep them up into whatever unknown and unknowable depths it possessed. James let loose an animal howl, and covered his face with his arms, ripping free of the professor's grip in a vain attempt to protect himself. He was knocked to the ground by something solid, and looked up from where he lay, expecting to see his end rushing towards him, but instead he saw his Defence Against the Dark Arts professor standing, her legs spread apart, arms outstretched, wand forgotten at her feet. She screamed a silent howl as impossible winds whipped at her clothing. All around them now, in a circle no greater than five paces across, the mist was struggling to penetrate her barriers. Eager tendrils shaped eerily like human arms reaching inwards, ever closer. James back up to the centre of the circle, his wand clutched pathetically to his chest.

'The others are gone! They're out, go James, you have to do it now!'

There was nothing that James wanted to do less right now. He imagined his warm bed a few floors below, empty. Perhaps the others had already turned in. He had lost all sense of time since being up here, maybe it was already approaching morning. How long would it be before they noticed his absence if he failed here? Would the castle do that to one of its own? Could it? How could something this dangerous be the core of the safest place in magical Britain?

All these questions and more rushed through James mind, unanswered, as he gritted his teeth and once more levitated the Runic Keystone, up towards the waiting gap in the Arch.

This time he was ready for the drain on his magical reserves, but he still emitted a small gasp, and staggered a half-step, before continuing with the spell. Small flames and sparks crackled about the stone, but James was prepared, and he lifted it up, above his head, two, three times his own height. With each crackle or jet of flame, he felt a sort of _pull_ on his magic, as if he were unwillingly fuelling these random outbursts. A great, thunderous jet of green flame lashed out towards him as he thought this, hurtling towards them both. Zoe hadn't seen it, her back was to him, her attention solely on keeping the clawing, cloying mists at bay. James began to scream, despair and panic linking arms and rearing their ugly twin heads, but from somewhere within him, some hidden reserve of Gryffindor courage, mated with some Ravenclaw logic and calm reasoning, he clamped down on it. He could _feel_ the pull of that flame, feel it like he would feel someone tugging on his own arm, or on his hair. In the split second before the flame washed over them James dove mentally into his own magical core, grabbed hold of that single strand, that fuel that was the heart of this murderous verdant fire, and _tugged back._

This all occurred in the space of a single second, and James watched in slight disbelief, as the green flame winked out, instantly. He felt the magic snap back to him with an elastic feeling, sending him staggering beneath the recoil. He gasped, letting out a disbelieving half-laugh, and almost dropping the Key from where he had been levitating it. It fell a few feet, tumbling end over end in mid-air, looking precariously close to crashing back to the ground. With a defiant snarl James steadied himself, and set about slowly, meticulously, bringing it back under control.

Now that he knew what he was doing, and what it felt like for the Key to try steal some of his magic, he found that it was much easier to control. The seemingly excessive drain on his magic abated with each cord he snapped back to himself. Each time he won that small victory it fuelled him onwards, gave him the strength and determination to lift that stone just a little higher each time. As it neared the centre of the Arch James raised both his arms as high as he could, guiding his charge carefully, slowly, into place. With a squealing grind and a satisfying _thud._ He felt the pull on his magic wink out altogether; the stone was in place, the Key was set.

He turned, triumphant, to face Zoe, and saw her still locked in that same pose, both arms outstretched, one now weeping blood from a series of nasty weals and burns. In that brief moment, as she stood at the centre of a vortex, possibly holding the might of the entire castle at bay, James felt an immense, crushing sadness at what the Wizarding World had lost in not making this woman an Auror.

She nodded to where her wand lay on the ground, and James bent to pick it up, tucking it into her pocket for her.

'Grab my robe, don't let go,' she managed to say. Her voice was little more than a whisper. James felt like there should be a giant racket to match the tumultuous, writhing mass of figures just outside their reach, that they should have to be screaming to be heard, as if they were indeed in the eye of some terrible cyclone, but the only sound was a soft susurrus, never quite forming words enough for James to latch on to.

He did as Zoe bade him and grabbed a fistful of her robe. They set out towards the door at a lurching, stumbling march, their tiny eye of calm limping along with them. James counted the steps as they went; eighty-two, eighty-three, they must surely be over halfway now. There was no way to tell though, the mist was pressing in from all sides. He peered off to his left, where he saw a patch of coalescing darkness begin to build. This shape didn't shy away from his scrutiny, but burgeoned beneath it, spreading wings of night, raising a wedge-shaped head in a silent cry of death.

It was a dragon.

James stumbled back half a step as the dragon turned its gaze upon him. Were those lambent eyes shining out from its smoky depth? He took another step backwards as Zoe took one forwards, and felt the cloth _tear_ beneath his hand, coming away where it had been so badly burned. He stumbled at the sudden release, tripping over, falling onto his backside. He looked up, but Zoe hadn't seen him; she was continuing to push onwards, her entire consciousness focused on keeping the mists at bay.

Behind him, James watched as slowly, unceasingly, the mists marched onwards. A strangled cry escaped his throat. Zoe spun to see, but too late. James watched in horror as a single arm of the mist snaked its way up to him, and almost in the style of a lover's caress, laid a hand on his foot.

' _Got you now,'_ he heard a voice say.

And all his senses were lost.

James opened his eyes a second or an hour or a day later, he could not be sure. He jumped, yelling in alarm; he was in a room full of people. But not real people, he saw; everything around him was painted in ghostly tones of sepia and ochre, dusty browns and greys slashed here and there by something darker. He gasped, as a figure, no older than himself, appeared to walk right through him. He quickly put a hand to chest, he still _felt_ solid enough.

As he spun slowly on the spot James looked on in wonderment at the scene around him, or scenes rather. Everywhere he looked he saw people. Running, laughing, playing, flying, crying, doing all manner of things. He saw scenes of love and scenes of violence. Brief flashes of intimacy and lingering moments of heartache. Teachers chased students, students chased students. The sun shone bright to his left, and behind him a full moon hung low and heavy in a pale imitation of the night sky. Slowly it dawned on him what he was seeing, what this _really_ was, for he now knew that _this_ was the real Heart of Hogwarts, not the giant room with the impressive Arches, or the golden waterfall with its blinding, purifying light.

These were the memories, perhaps _all_ of the memories, which the castle held. Over a thousand years of them, the lives of countless children and adults who had passed through Hogwarts' halls. All had left their mark, and all were remembered here, in this most sacred of places. As he reached out to accept the hand of a tiny girl dressed in medieval version of Hogwarts robes, a thought occurred to James, unbidden.

This place wasn't all that dangerous after all.

Why, he thought he could spend hours wandering through here. The memories flashed about him, in a constant flickering dance, twirling playfully just out of sight, like a dusty flame. If he focused on a single one hard enough, he could see it to the exclusion of all others, and follow that single thread of memory. For how long he didn't know. Could he watch someone's entire life play out within Hogwarts? Could he watch his grandparents full seven years here? His breath caught at the very thought of that prospect. Could he watch his father battle Voldemort?

 _This_ was why James had been feeling the yearning pull, drawing him up here all this time, surely. The Heart spoke to him, was showing him its secrets. Surely the Professor must not know that this was at the true core. She seemed to fear the mists, as if they brought about death. James laughed at the very thought; they did the very opposite. They were preserving _life_. Thousands on thousands of lives. Great accomplishments and crushing defeats, all here for him to view, the power of it was only beginning to dawn on him. He had to show his friends, perhaps this would get them to talk to him again. Surely Cassie would nigh faint at the opportunity to sit with the great Hermione Granger, or Albus Dumbledore as they studied. Holly could shadow Nero, as he tracked and traced every single secret passage of the castle, or simply go back in time to when each one was made. Rain could–

James started, as his next footfall brought about a sound like crushing glass. He had been following the tiny girl, as she ran hand in hand with a young boy around the shores of the Great Lake, but now as he looked down to his shoe, he saw, with a shock, a series of spiderwebbing cracks radiating outward, growing, charging out in every direction away from where he stood.

Each fracture emitted a soft, pulsating, purple glow, shot through with midnight black, and riven with a flickering argent silver. The light they gave off looked sickly, it looked _wrong_ against the soft browns and greys of the Heart's Memories. He knew instantly that whatever it was did not belong.

He watched in growing dread as the cracks spread out across the Great Lake, criss-crossing the surface like it was a giant pane of glass, or a solid sheet of ice. They danced up the horizon, into the very sky itself, towards the sun, and across it, obscuring its pale brightness.

Where they met up, above James' head, there was a deep, resonating _boom_ , and like a window shattering beneath a Reductor curse, the entire scene around him crashed down, raining down upon him in tiny shards of dusky glass. The sickly purple glow grew in intensity, until it was all that James saw around him in every direction. There was no floor, no black and white tiles, no Great Lake and young couple. There was only a crushing, pressing, flickering light. James felt ill just looking at it.

Abruptly, the light flickered out, and the first thing James noticed from where he had huddled, was flagstones beneath his feet once more. Real flagstones, not sepia toned copies. He was back? Where _was_ back? With a jolt he realised that these weren't the black and white of the Heart Room.

James looked up and saw four long tables, packed with students in different coloured robes, all seemingly peering up towards the far end of the room. He was in the Great Hall. He followed their gaze, realizing that they were clapping, but for some reason there was no sound. Nothing at all, not even the weird half-noises from the earlier Memories that had refused to coalesce into something more solid. He looked over at the row of first years waiting to be sorted.

A mop of untidy black hair immediately caught his attention. Frantically, James sprinted over to the first years. A timid-looking girl stepped up to be sorted before the black-haired boy. James had already forgotten her, as she made her way over to the Hufflepuff house table accompanied by the silent applause.

He neared the Sorting Hat, skidded to a halt in front of it, peering eagerly at the small, bespectacled, nervous-looking boy with a lightning shaped scar.

It was his father.

'Dad! Harry! It's me, James,' he called out, a little hysterically.

He gained no response. As his father's name was silently called, he began to step up towards the stool where the Hay lay. He got no more than two steps though, before the scene began to fade around James, although this time it was only a shadowy grey-black that enveloped him, rather than the sickly purple from before.

A second scene appeared abruptly: his father and Ron Weasley, sprinting out of the very same Great Hall on Hallowe'en. They barrelled through a group of frightened first-years, knocking a small girl in yellow-trimmed robes to the floor. Neither seemed to even notice, as they headed up to where James knew Hermione Granger was trapped in the girls lavatory.

Before the pair arrived to fight off the troll, the scene faded again, and the coruscating grey-black shadows embraced him once more.

And so the pattern repeated, again and again, showing scenes from what James assumed was all the important moments in his father's first year at Hogwarts. Curiously, not every Memory showed his father, but they all appeared to be from the same year.

There was a Memory of Harry's first Quidditch victory, from the eyes of a small girl sitting by herself up the back of the stands, then there was the time Harry received his first O grade in a homework assignment. He was so happy he jumped up to hug Hermione, knocking over a bottle of ink all over another student's work. Another one of a small girl crying, alone in the bathrooms. He had thought that this was Hermione, until he saw the golden edges to her robes. There were several of a door opening into an empty room. Each time, James rushed to crane his neck and see what was behind the door, but each time his efforts were thwarted as the Memory disappeared like a popped bubble before he could see in.

He began to wonder if he was going to see his father's entire school life played out before him, and slight worry began to creep in. That could take a _long_ time, and while the previous Memories had left James feeling elated and carefree, this set of real-life, soundless snippets, were much more eerie and ominous, and he was beginning to think of a way to get out of here.

He was about to turn and walk in a direction he thought the door to the Heart Room might have been, when they had entered what seemed like days ago, when the mysterious door Memory began to play again. This time there was a small figure, a girl, judging by the coppery curls that spilled out from her dark hood. She seemed oddly familiar to James for a reason he couldn't quite describe. She pushed the door ajar, gently and carefully, shooting furtive glances all about her as she did so. James rushed up until he was breathing down her neck, stretching to see what was in the room beyond.

His breath caught as he saw it. It was his father. Sitting, cross-legged on the floor, in the centre of the room, half of which was still concealed by the opening door and the girls' body. He saw a look of enraptured joy, and a lazy smile there on his fathers' features, so similar they were to his own.

The girl must have gasped, as she put a hand to her mouth. She had obviously not expected the room to be occupied. She turned and fled, leaving James alone at the doorway, mere steps away from his father. He pushed on the heavy door, but it refused his efforts. This was not _his_ reality, after all. He squeezed slowly through the tiny gap, peeking his head around to see what had his father so captivated.

To his horror the smoky grey started creeping in from the corners of his vision. The Memory was fading. Desperate, James forced his arms through the gap, craning his neck feverishly. With a triumphant roar he shot through, tumbling in a flailing heap of robes and arms. He got up, looking wildly around. He saw his father, staring up at… nothing. There was nothing left now of the room, faded as it was to the strange in-between-Memory-smoke that came each time. James gave a howl of disappointment that was cut short, as something, like a strong gale, pushed away the smoke, and with it any hint of the surrounding mysterious room, and his tiny, eleven year old father.

'Potter! What the hell are you playing at! Get back here before I jam my wand so far up your backside you'll be coughing splinters for a week!'

James had never been so glad to be on the receiving end of one of Zoe Meadows' obscure and ominous threats. He ran to his professor, gripping tightly onto her robe like a child would its mother. She put her good arm on his back, and frog-marched him the last few yards to the exit, which was still shining golden, and from this close proximity its glow was penetrating the mists which continued to swirl angrily around them.

James had to double-take as they neared the portal. The pure, shining gold seemed now to be shot through with those same ugly, sickly purple, black and silver cracks. Like bolts of miniature lightning, they flickered across the surface of the waterfall, and each time they met, they illuminated the entire structure with an eerie glow.

The mists around James seemed less frightening now, and he felt their calling to him like an old friend. They were there to comfort him after that strange, scary ordeal with his fathers' first year, and he began to reach out his hand once more.

Zoe abruptly and unceremoniously put an end to that, hurling James bodily through the entranceway. He tumbled through the not-waterfall, leaving the mists, the Heart, and his ailing professor behind.

It appeared that the black and white tiles were every bit as hard as they looked, as he collapsed onto them in a heap. Teddy and Tristan rushed over from where they had both been pacing identical tracks into the floor, on opposite sides of the corridor.

'James, are you ok? Are you hurt? Where is Zoe?' Teddy's face filled his vision. He was perfectly fine, save perhaps a few singed hairs, a sore elbow, and a bruised dignity from that most recent tumble.

'Fine, I'm fine,' he mumbled, 'Professor is still in there. Activating the wards now I guess. She threw me out. Caught in the mists. Burnt her arm.'

' _What?'_ Teddy yelled. He got up, as if to dart back in through the doorway, when a tiny bundle of blonde hair was spat out more violently than James had been. The two collided, going down in a heap on the floor.

James rushed over alongside Tristan to see if Zoe was unharmed. Those burns on her arm had looked pretty bad, not to mention the sheer magical exhaustion that she had been suffering while trying to fight off the onslaught of the mists.

They were entangled on the floor, Teddy slowly pushing himself up from where he had been lying on Zoe. He looked gravely concerned, and was shooting several nervous glances per second off at her damaged arm.

As James approached the pair, he heard a sound, an impossible sound, coming from Zoe where she lay, one arm burned to a crisp, her leg detached and lying halfway up the corridor. It was soft at first, but grew louder as he approached. Interspersed with coughing, and great shuddering gasps for air, the woman was _laughing._ After all that they had just been through, this tiny, excitable, vibrant, dynamo of a woman had gone to what James considered was Hell and back, and was laughing at it!

She grabbed Teddy by the back of the neck with her one good hand, and pulled him into a ferocious, passionate kiss.

James kicked idly at a small pebble laying on the tiles, checked his watch, rubbed at a bit of dirt on his wand, looked up again and they were _still_ going at it.

'Now, I'm no expert on the subject matter,' Tristan piped up, 'but is this _really_ the time?'

The pair looked up sheepishly, Teddy offering Zoe a hand to her feet, or foot, and a shoulder to lean on once she made it. She was smiling a devilish smile, her bright lipstick was smeared, brilliant hair a mess, and one eyebrow completely missing. James wondered briefly if this woman was even safe to teach children.

She gestured them in, and James and Tristan wandered over, before being pulled mercilessly into a crushing group hug.

'You guys are the best!' Zoe squealed repeatedly.

James popped his head out from the scrum momentarily to get some fresh air. He found himself staring back at the archway through which they had entered, as the group danced awkwardly around him. The black marble was as solid as it had been when they arrived, except every time the torchlight flickered on just the right angle, he thought he saw a sickeningly familiar shade of deep purple illuminated in a series of spiderwebbing cracks.


	17. Chapter 17

The debacle with the Heart had taken place on Saturday evening. By Sunday morning James awoke to an entirely different castle.

Wild winds were whipping against the windows, tossing great handfuls of snow and sleet, and causing them to rattle in their panes. A storm had rolled in overnight, and appeared content to linger, sitting low and heavy in the sky directly above the castle. Drafts cunningly made their way through cracks in fittings, gaps in mortar, and underneath poorly-hung doors. Fireplaces roared throughout the castle, but were fighting a losing battle, as the students as one were forced to dig into their trunks for the warmest of cloaks and coats.

A roaring trade blossomed, with older students offering their services in the form of Warming Charms, and transfiguring fleeces from simple shirts. Coins clinked and rattled as James trudged through the common room that morning, changing hands frantically, their desperate owners paying, quite literally, for their inattention in classes, as it ought to have been a simple enough spell to perform.

'Wonder how long before the Lenders swoop in and take control of _that_ little business venture,' James muttered darkly to Fred as they pushed through the portrait hole.

'Just don't bet on it,' Fred replied, jaded, 'or we'll have eight seventh years here in a flash tying our shoelaces together and tossing us off the Astronomy Tower.'

'Wrap up nice and snug dearies!' called the Fat Lady, 'it's a little cold out!'

'Easy for you to say,' growled Clip, 'you're a ruddy portrait.'

Shocked and offended spluttering followed them all the way to the staircase.

Clip wrapped his coat a little tighter, and clapped his hands beneath three pairs of mittens. As a southern lad with a penchant for travelling through the winters, he wasn't taking too kindly to Hogwarts latest brand of hospitality.

'Do you think,' Cat piped up as they crossed the landing on the fourth floor, 'that if we get enough snow it might attract some Yeti? I should very much love to see one. Mother says they are awfully friendly, and might make an excellent replacement for a guard dog in colder climates.'

'Er…' Fred managed.

James rolled his eyes and gave a small smile. Harry had warned him off any advice given to Fred by his own father, James thought he might just add any advice given to Kattala Lovegood by her mother to that list as well.

'I'll take you out when it stops snowing,' Clip offered, kindly, 'I have an excellent Yeti-calling horn in my trunk, I purchased it from a most interesting witch in Diagon Alley.'

James was very aware that the aforementioned "Yeti-horn" in Clip's trunk was nothing more than a muggle air horn, but he was more than a little curious to see what response they might elicit by wandering about the grounds blasting _that_ for all to hear. He wasn't sure, but he thought it a safe bet that it was less than likely to bring out any Yeti that might be lurking about the place.

But Cat was glowing, a bright smile lighting up her pale blue eyes. She wrapped Clip up in a warm hug, which he accepted gratefully, on this of all days.

The group arrived late to breakfast, and so James was surprised to see the Great Hall nearly entirely full, both House and Staff tables with nary an empty chair between them. They squeezed onto the Gryffindor table right at the end, shooting confused glances at equally clueless housemates. James was pressed up hard against a bulky sixth-year on one side, and Cat on the other, who looked as if she were halfway-hanging off the end of the bench seat. For once though he was glad to have little room, as the fireplaces roaring away in their hearths did little to warm them at such a distance as they were.

Hot chocolates and cooked fair was the order of the morning; anything to try and generate a little heat in their chilled bellies. Whispers were flitting about the Hall like little birds, but James was focused single-mindedly on his food; his stomach was making sure of it.

James had speared his last kipper with his fork, and was halfway to bringing it to his mouth, when the doors to the Great Hall slammed shut, and the tableware vanished unceremoniously. The sausage tumbled into James lap, where he nabbed it and popped it into his mouth, hoping nobody saw. Cat gave a little giggle, which turned into a squeal as the hulking sixth-year next to them shoved them down to make way for one of his friends. Cat tumbled off the end of the seat, and James took her former place with one cheek off the seat and one on.

He offered her a hand up, and a spot on his knee, which she gladly took, humming softly to herself. James was quietly glad for the extra warmth that she offered, and wrapped a hand about her waist as Headmistress McGonagall stood up to begin speaking, effectively stifling all the chatter within the Hall.

'You are probably wondering why we have gathered you all in here this morning,' a bevy of nods rippled around the room, 'I'm sure that you are all aware of the current threat of attacks on Historical Magical Sites across Britain. Locations and items of great power have been targeted since the beginning of the year. The Mirror of Erised was the first, Stonehenge the latest. There is growing concern that Hogwarts may be somewhere on this attackers list.'

The Headmistress was forced to halt her speech there, as an outburst of nervous whispers, peppered with the occasional terrified shriek, flowered among the gathered students. James shot a meaningful look at Freddy and Clip from beneath Cat's armpit.

The Headmistress cleared her throat. Quietly, it seemed, yet James heard it as if it were right behind him. Silence once more descended upon the students, but a shifting nervousness had pervaded the room where before all was still.

'Rest assured, that we are doing everything in our power to prevent this from occurring. At this stage we have received no threats, nor attempts of an attack of any kind. Hogwarts is a fortress; she is a castle in every sense, and she is the most well-defended site in all of magical Britain. I cannot make myself any clearer when I say this: You are safe here.

'In saying that, we are enacting, effective immediately, a series of _precautionary_ measures, to further ensure student safety and make sure that we are not taking any unnecessary risks.

'Mandatory curfew for all years is now nine p.m. Any student caught out of bed after this time will lose fifty house points on the spot, and handed no less than a month of detention.'

Another round of angry mutterings, particularly from the older students, who were the ones making use of those night time hours the most.

'Furthermore, faculty and Auror patrols in the corridors after-hours have been doubled, along with perimeter patrols by the Aurors around the clock. The eighth floor is strictly out-of-bounds to all students without a faculty or Auror escort, and the entrance will remain under guard at all hours of the day.'

James pressed his face into Cat's coat from behind, hiding the disappointed scowl on his face. Even an Invisibility Cloak might not be enough to get past a guard posted right outside the door.

He stopped himself there. What was he thinking? He had just been to the Heart not twelve hours ago, and had had possibly the most harrowing experience of his Hogwarts career to date. Now here he was planning a return trip? He needed to stop drinking the pumpkin juice around here; he was starting to catch the crazy.

'I expect you all to adhere to these measures with the utmost diligence. I am informed that the threat to Hogwarts is minor, and Harry Potter himself has informed me that the Aurors are closing in on the attackers. I have full confidence that everything will be back to normal presently. Any questions on these new rules should be directed to your House prefects, or the Head Boy and Girl. Good day.'

With that the Headmistress spun and exited the Hall briskly through a concealed rear door. Conversation erupted alongside the sound of scraping benches, as several hundred students headed off, grumbling about rules, weather, and this unknown nuisance of an attacker.

Evidently Cat seemed content where she was, perched on James' lap. She weighed very little, but James was beginning to feel the strain of trying to balance her there with only half his weight supported by the seat. Fred and Clip stayed as well, watching with increased amusement as his face steadily became redder and redder. At least being cold wasn't really an issue any longer.

Finally, when the Hall was all-but empty, save for a few lonely souls or tight-knit groups drawn down in hushed discussion, she spun gracefully off of James' lap, drawing herself up to her full, impressive height, and fixing James with a very accusing glare.

'You might have told us that you were helping to increase the defences of the school last night James Potter,' she scolded sharply. I do think Holly might have been less inclined to Hex you, had you told us all the _truth._ '

The way she bit off that last word caused James to flinch back involuntarily. His mouth was agape, working stupidly but producing no sound. He ran a hand through his hair nervously, and shot a pleading glance at Fred and Clip. Both were locked in identical expressions of disbelief; Clip's eyebrows had disappeared entirely into his hairline.

'I, er… How did you – I can't – I'm not supposed to–'

Out of nowhere, she whipped off a mitten and smacked James over the head with it two, three times. Fred and Clip appeared inclined to let this one play out, as both made no effort to help.

'I think it's time that you stopped keeping things from your friends James Potter. I don't like being lied to, and I think your secret games have done enough damage this year already.'

That stung, and James cast a subconscious glance over to the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables, both now empty. Professor Meadows had told him expressly that he was not to mention last night to a single soul. There were sure to be rumours flying about now, after that announcement, and he wondered if those two Ravenclaws that they had seen had recognised their faces, or put two and two together about what was going on.

They were Ravenclaws; they were bound to get it eventually.

James grimaced, chewing on his options. Something was still holding him back and he couldn't quite put his wand on it. He knew his father would have told Ron and Hermione by now; he had told them _everything_ by all accounts. He also knew that it was the right thing, the fair thing to do. They deserved to know; he was almost certain that if the roles were reversed that they would do the same for him without any hesitation at all.

But _was_ it the right thing to do though? It was a pretty big secret that he was holding on to after all, he was sure that Professor Meadows wouldn't want him going around telling everyone. And it wasn't like his father, where he would only be telling two people. He had several friends, and who knew how many people that they would share it with. He didn't know if he could trust them with the secret at all…

The realisation of what he was saying suddenly hit him with the force of an irate Whomping Willow, and he felt sick to his core. He was sitting here, debating whether to tell his friends a secret that could be important to their own safety, trying to justify _not_ telling them, by saying he couldn't trust them. He felt disgusted in himself, and the loss of Holly and Cassie immediately redoubled, as he was finally able to recognise his own fault in the matter.

Sickeningly, and despite his internal protests, the ruthless self-evaluation continued. He wondered if maybe he didn't _like_ being the one holding onto all of the secrets, the only one who _truly_ knew what was going on. His father had had help all through his seven years of school, and here was James' opportunity to achieve something meaningful, and he was sacrificing his friendships because he wanted the glory _for himself?_

He sagged visibly, and put his head down into his arms. He was becoming the very opposite of what his father had been, of everything that his father had stood for. Cutting himself off from his friends, wrapping himself in an armour of secrets and deception. Was this what the Sorting Hat had referred to about keeping him on the right path? He was feeling very un-Gryffindor at the moment, and wondered if perhaps he didn't belong in another house after all.

James felt the firm pressure of a hand on his back, and a body slid in next to him on the bench. Cat leant in close, whispering in his ear, for only him.

'We understand James. I know it's hard. It's hard to give up secrets, hard to trust anyone, especially now. But we are your friends, and no matter what, we are going to stick with you as long as you will let us. We are better together James, we _all_ are. We just need you to need _us._ '

James looked up to see her face mere inches from his own, the beginnings of a soft, knowing smile curving her lips. Her words had hit home; her perception was as cutting as ever, and little was he able to hide from Kattala Lovegood.

He hadn't felt their coming, but tears were now blurring the edge of his vision. Mercifully, the silvery curtain of Cat's hair was shielding his face from the view of Freddy and Clip. He scrubbed them away hastily, and turned to face his friends. Cat's gloved hand found his own beneath the table, and he took strength from that.

'So last night Tristan and I – but don't say anything to him; I don't want him to know I told anyone – we went with Professor Meadows and Teddy, my sort-of-brother, to do a warding upgrade on the Heart.'

Clip flat-out gasped, Cat made a sort of squeaking sound, and Freddy graced them all with what was fast becoming a signature, 'bloody hell!'

'Keep it down,' James whispered frantically, 'so yeah, she said that because of the whole attacks thing happening at the moment, we needed to add some extra wards. Once we got in there though, things started getting a bit weird. Professor Meadows was trying really hard to keep this strange mist away from us, and she seemed to think that it was going to kill us, but it got me and all that happened was that I could see memories. _All_ the memories, I think, since the beginning of Hogwarts, they're all in there. Then something happened, and it went strange again, like I was seeing real life, but there was no sound. And that's when I saw loads of pieces from my dad's first year. I saw him get sorted, almost, and then saw him go save Aunt Hermione from the Troll, almost, and then I saw him sitting in this empty room, staring up at something… but I never got to see what it was.'

'Almost,' breathed Cat.

James nodded, 'it was like I was seeing the beginnings of all the important parts of his first year. I might have seen him fight Quirrel-Voldemort, but Professor Meadows came and saved me, and then we got out of there.'

'And that's it?' Clip asked.

'That's it?!' Fred cried, 'that's _only_ the most exciting thing any of us has ever done probably in our entire _lives_ , and you're asking if _that's it_?'

'Well I once sat down on a sleeping Blast-Ended Skrewt, thinking it was a stone,' Cat supplied, ' _that_ was also quite exciting.'

Fred just sat there spluttering, but Clip chimed back in, before anybody suffered a stroke.

'I meant, as in, why are they now stepping up the security? Did something go wrong James? It can't have all gone to plan, if they are taking further measures now.'

'I knew that,' grumbled Fred.

'Yeah, just before I went into the weird no-sound memories, there was this purple and black stuff, like cracks all over, it shattered the memory I was in beforehand. It looked really _wrong_ , I dunno how to explain it, but when we sealed up the entrance again, those same cracks were there. Whatever they were, they felt like they didn't belong. When Professor Meadows saw them she got really worried, and we practically ran all the way back to McGonagall's office.'

'There it is,' said Clip smugly, 'so somebody may have _already_ got to the Heart, tampered with it in some way. That's what all these other attacks are, isn't it? Desecration of the sacred sites? Maybe it's some kind of delayed attack, where it gets worse over time, and sometime near the end of the year it will destroy the Heart completely.

'Like, what if that purple stuff is a virus, or a parasite, and the Heart is infected?'

All of a sudden James felt a burning desire to not think about anything at all related to the Heart; the implications of that suggestion were beyond his understanding, but he knew that they would be terrifying.

His friends only had another three million questions about the previous night, before they had to split up for the afternoon; Fred and James had Quidditch practice, while Cat and Clip were headed back to the common room with the plan of huddling desperately around the fireplace to keep warm.

They were making their way down the Grand Staircase towards the castle grounds, dragging their feet a little at the prospect of heading out into the storm that continued to rage, when they came across Diana Fairbourne waiting at the door to the Entrance Hall, dressed in her Quidditch robes and an awful lot of makeup, leaning casually against the great oaken façade. A tiny drift of snow had blown in through the crack in the door, and danced playfully at her feet. A stray draft was tugging softly on the ends of her robes.

'Inside today boys,' she said with a bright smile, 'nobody wants to be out there in _this_ weather, so we'll have a planning session instead, there's a room on the first floor, second door on the left, almost everyone is in there, I'll be up soon once I catch the last of them.'

James was secretly relieved, but outwardly tried his best at a disappointed grimace. One must look keen at all times, after all.

Their interim captain shooed them up the stairs with one perfectly manicured hand, and they gratefully made their way to the open classroom, tugging off extra layers as they were hit with the heat of a roaring fire and a wave of unintelligible chatter.

James and Fred crammed in near the fireplace, directly behind Devlin Boot, and Abbey and Zanthia Fisher. The trio were the reserve players promoted to the starting squad in lieu of the ban received by the Hydra. This weekend was to be their first test on the pitch, and their new starting status had well and truly gone to their collective heads.

Fourth-years who strutted about the castle like seventh-years, James had seen them, pushing younger students out of their way in the corridors, and hexing anybody too slow to run. They were, for now, the Chasers on the top team in Hogwarts. At three wins to a single loss, Gryffindor still held on to the lead in the chase for the Cup, but these three were going to have their work well and truly cut out for them in order to keep it that way; James had a strong feeling that they might not hold onto that number one spot for too much longer.

They were huddled in the farthest corner of the classroom from the door, in order to minimise the draft. As James leaned in to warm his hands, he heard the three would-be superstars strike up a conversation that was probably better left unsaid.

'Did you guys _see_ Fairbourne today?' hissed Zanthia, 'she looked like a two-bit whore if you ask me. More made up than a Troll at a Ball.'

James turned to Fred, eyes wide. He had known there was some unease on the team at Diana's appointment as interim captain; she was hardly a star player, and had caught the snitch in only one of their four games so far this year. But Ryan himself had given her the keys, and that was reason enough for James.

'Did you see her hair? What was she even trying to do with it? It looked like she'd been attacked by a swarm of Bowtruckles.' That from Abbey, who was sporting a cruel smile.

'I hear she has a date with some Ravenclaw seventh-year later tonight,' drawled Devlin, 'she's all dolled up for him I bet. That's why we're having indoor "practice" as well; she won't want to mess up her hair.'

'A seventh-year?' Abbey screeched, 'but- but she's only fourth year as well! She _is_ a whore, I knew it! Wait until everyone hears about _this._ '

The door to the classroom closed, and a hush fell over the room. James looked around to see what had caused it, but from his spot on the floor he was unable to see a thing. Evidently the terrible threesome hadn't noticed, as their unholy bagging of their beleaguered captain continued unabated.

'I don't even know how she is still on the team,' continued Boot, 'one snitch, that's all she's caught this year, and that was pretty touch-and-go as well; she almost crashed into the stands to get that one. She should have, if that weird Weasley stand hadn't thrown her back out onto the pitch. Maybe it would be better if she _had_ crashed, then we wouldn't be stuck with her for the rest of the year. I swear we aren't going to win another game with her in charge. The only thing that was holding this team together was O'Flaherty, and now he and his buddies have gone and got kicked out. It's going to be on us to win it I say. The way it should be.'

As Devlin Boot trailed off, James realised just how pressing the silence in the room really was. The merry crackling of the fireplace even seemed subdued now, and every face was torn between staring in open-mouthed horror and the three new Chasers, or anguished pity directed at Diana Fairbourne, who had walked into the room and was standing frozen near the doorway.

James looked to Fred, then back at Diana, then to Devlin, who was looking a little uncomfortable by this stage. Without a single word, Diana turned and sprinted from the room, slamming the door behind her so hard that it cracked along the hinges, and jammed shut.

'How much do you reckon she heard?' Devlin whispered to the Fisher twins.

'All of it, toss-pot,' Archie MacDougal growled from where he was seated at the back of the class. He was standing up slowly, wand already in his hand.

James and Fred scrambled frantically to get out of the crossfire between the four students. James wanted desperately to stand up with Archie, and hex those three fourth-years into oblivion, but he knew he would be next-to-useless in a duel, so he sent his best wishes Archie's way as he joined most of the rest of the team hurriedly filing out through the damaged doorway.

And thus the degeneration of the mighty Gryffindor Quidditch team began in earnest.

By the time Tuesday morning rolled around, and the Gryffindors were making their way to Transfiguration, there were several unconfirmed rumours flitting about the school as to why Devlin Boot and the Fisher twins had been absent from class all through Monday. One report had them all transfigured into some three-headed mockery of a Hydra and tossed into the lake to see if they could make friends with the Giant Squid. James was _really_ hoping that one was the truth.

James and Fred split off from the others to duck to the bathroom before class, but when they arrived back at their normal spot, they found the room empty, not a soul in sight.

'Oh shoot,' Fred cursed, 'they moved the class up to the fourth floor for today, remember? They were having an Auror meeting in here or something, I think the professor said.'

James remembered nothing of the sort, but checking his watch he realised that they now had a good chance of being late to class; an affront that Artemius Plye did not take lightly at all. The pair sprinted off, taking the stairs three at a time, eventually bursting into their temporary classroom, interrupting the professor mid-speech.

'Well, well, well,' he smiled evilly, 'so glad you could make it boys. Busy morning, is it? I note that the rest of your classmates managed the trip from the Great Hall to here unscathed, perilous though it often is. Weasley, you're in the corner, next to my dear Uncle Pennyworth. The portrait there, you dolt. Facing the wall, that's perfect.'

James swallowed, as the professor turned his fiendish gaze on him.

'As for you Potter, this is your second tardy appearance to my class; I have a much more… creative plan for you today. Follow me, if you will.'

James stood up the front of the class, growing increasingly nervous as Professor Plye began to lecture on complex transfigurations. With a growing sense of unease he wondered if perhaps he wasn't about to join the squid and the Fisher-Boot monster at the bottom of the Lake.

He was shocked out of his reverie as Professor Plye rapped him sharply on the top of the head with his wand, and barked at the class to 'observe!'

James looked down in a sequence of shock, followed by horror and embarrassment, as his robes slowly began to transfigure before his very eyes. The thick black of his winter cloak faded to a light, summery linen, his woollen mittens to delicate silken riding gloves, and his full-length robe into a terrifyingly garish blue-and-green dress.

The class burst out in a raucous cheer, applauding the professor, whooping and yelling their delight. James' face was flushed, he was trying desperately to cover bits of himself that ought not to be exposed, all the while slowly succumbing to a most _alarming_ draft wending its way up his legs.

He looked up to the professor, more than a little desperate, but received only an innocent shrug in response.

'I do seem to have forgotten the counter-spell, Potter. I suggest we simply wait for the effects to reverse naturally, which is probably the safest option. Oh, and I wouldn't try to remove it either, I believe I may have _accidentally_ added in a little surprise, should you attempt anything along those lines.'

James groaned and shuffled back to his seat, dignity well and truly in tatters.

'Well I think you look beautiful,' Clip shot behind his hand, as James slunk down into his chair.

He lost five house points for hitting Clip with that godforsaken face-sucker that Fred had used on his birthday, but if he had the choice, he would do it again in a heartbeat.

Professor Meadows thought that James' dress was possibly the best thing in creation, and had him sit up the front of the class to demonstrate the correct wand movements for the Disarming Charm. James did believe that she took a perverse pleasure in sending him flying each time with her powerful spell, giving the mortified class more than they bargained for, as each time the dress seemed intent on ending up around his ears.

That night at dinner, still clad in the frightful dress, James caught Holly's eye from where she sat at the end of the Slytherin table, somehow looking very much an outcast, despite her matching green-and-silver-trimmed robes. He offered her a smile and a shrug, hoping maybe she would take pity on him, laugh at him, anything. She merely turned back to her plate, listlessly toying with her food, and pointedly not looking up again.

The sole consolation, if it could be called that, was that the dress finally _did_ fade, sometime midway through dessert, and when it did, James was tapped on the shoulder by an older, hooded boy in Hufflepuff robes.

'For you, Potter, courtesy of the Lenders. We think you are going to do just fine come Sunday, so here's a down payment. Besides, your little dress-capade was the hottest intake of the day. We figure you're owed some compensation for that, at least.

'Just remember, this castle _is_ big enough for the both of us.'

With that the boy, some messenger doing Silk and Deep-Voice's grunt-work, no doubt, dropped a heavy bag, the size of James' fist, on the table. It rattled encouragingly as he shook it. Before he could look up and ask any questions, his benefactor was gone, and James counted that he was now one Galleon, five Sickles and twenty-eight Knuts richer. How they worked out that sum he'd never know.

Tensions rose about the school as January waned. The final weekend was bringing a double-header of action. A Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff on the Saturday, followed by the third F.A.R.T club on the Sunday. The storm that had set in following their attempt to upgrade security on the Heart refused to abate, and snow was piling up about the grounds faster than the teachers could magically clear it away.

The cold, dark weather was doing little to ease the edginess of the student body with regards to the threat of another attack, as well. Rumours were beginning to circulate that the storm was magical in nature, and it's refusal to break up meant that perhaps somebody was already attacking Hogwarts, and the teachers remained blissfully unaware. James was trying his best not to listen to any such nonsense, for he knew that was all it must be, but images of purple-hued fissures haunted his dreams, and he found himself a long way from convinced.

The new curfew laws were swiftly broken, mostly by older students who were out for an after-hours rendezvous, and thought themselves cleverer than the faculty _and_ a group of trained, battle-experienced Aurors. It look less than a week for the post outside Broom Closet sixty-nine to be manned from sundown until sunup each night, and the race for the House Cup swiftly ground to a shuddering halt, with Hufflepuff leading on a meagre one hundred and seventeen points.

James' friend group sadly remained as the Gryffindor four; Holly had refused to acknowledge any of them, now that they were hanging around with James. He felt the gulf between them widening, and he yearned to share the secret with her about the Heart, but she seemed intent on avoiding him at all costs, and he finally settled for cornering the three of them at F.A.R.T club the coming Sunday.

The group had finally convinced Cat to avoid the Fred Weasley I Memorial stand for the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff match that Saturday, and James and Fred shuffled along the front row of the Gryffindor stand to take their seats next to Clip and Cat. The pre-match pep talk had been nothing of the sort; the Terrible Threesome were back, and appallingly, in the starting positions for the match. Diana Fairbourne had been shaky, teary and nervous for her first game as Captain. Archie MacDougal had spent the entire briefing glaring daggers at Devlin Boot, and reminiscing aloud about the time he and Will had accidentally knocked out a member of their own team with a bludger, back in their third year.

The game started quickly, with Hufflepuff scoring inside of a minute. The weather was stubbornly remaining horrendous, and the Hufflepuff Chasers had been practicing in it all week. They nimbly weaved past Abbey Fisher, who was floundering madly about, barely in control of her broom, and slotted a difficult shot through the left upright. James groaned, and lowered his head into his gloved hands. This was going to be a long game.

That assumption was quickly proved correct, as Hufflepuff scored three more times before Gryffindor managed to get on the board. Zanthia Fisher scored two impressive goals in quick succession following that, and all of a sudden it was forty to thirty, and Gryffindor were back in the game.

It was sweet while it lasted, at least. James groaned as a well-placed bludger from a Hufflepuff beater slammed Abbey Fisher square in the mouth, toppling her from her broom and sending her a surprisingly short distance down to the massive snow-drifts carpeting the pitch. James wasn't sure in the driving snow and sleet, but he thought Archie MacDougal could have made a play at stopping that shot, had he the inclination.

When she returned to play she looked more than a little dazed, and dropped the Quaffle twice before Diana angrily called a time-out, and marched the team over to the sidelines. The score was seventy to thirty.

Gryffindor scored first after the break, on a well-designed play between Zanthia and Devlin, and a pinpoint bludger placement from Archie, to veer the Hufflepuff Keeper off-course at the last second. The Badgers countered with a swift one-two, and all of a sudden Gryffindor was fifty points behind. Archie and Devlin managed to get in a shouting match in midfield, and Hufflepuff used the distraction to take their score to an even hundred.

James was desperately tracking Diana now, willing her to catch the snitch. It was fast becoming apparent that time was not on their side, and if they didn't catch it before Hufflepuff pulled out to a one hundred fifty point lead, then the game would be lost for good.

At one hundred thirty to forty, as the Badgers really looked to be hitting their stride with Quaffle in hand, James leapt up out of his seat in elation; Diana had seen the snitch _and_ had a better angle than the Hufflepuff Seeker. She was haring down towards where it was hovering lethargically just above the snow. A violent gust of wind blew her momentarily off-course, and suddenly both Seekers were neck-and-neck. James willed Diana onwards, he saw her reaching out a hand towards the snitch. She executed a perfect contact with the Hufflepuff Seeker, and gained a half a body length lead on her. James leaned forward as his captain reached out, barely ahead –

 _Thu-thud._

Both Seekers ploughed into the snow, which was layered on the pitch to a height greater than most houses. The entire school watched on eagerly, the game above even paused. Diana had had a clear lead, it was a textbook catch from there. She had done all the hard work, locating the snitch first, and knocking the Hufflepuff Seeker off course beautifully.

James and Fred let loose a pair of anguished cries as a tiny golden ball fluttered up from the two Seeker-shaped holes in the snow, and darted off toward the D.L. Malfoy stand, quickly lost from sight.

The game shuddered into life again, and both Seekers returned unharmed, but James couldn't shake the feeling that that had been their one and only shot at winning the game.

True enough, the ninety-point lead quickly became a one hundred thirty point lead. As it ticked over at two hundred twenty points to sixty in favour of Hufflepuff, James and Fred slid down in their seats, covering their faces in despair. They didn't even look up ten minutes later when a cheer went up signalling the end of a game, and Gryffindor's worst defeat in seven years at three hundred eighty points to sixty.

James turned away as the arguments began on the Gryffindor sideline. Thankfully, he didn't have to attend the post-match briefings as a reserve-squad member. He had seen all he was able to stomach of his precious team falling apart at the seams.

The sombre mood had well-and-truly permeated all through Gryffindor tower that evening, and James found himself alone in a small study room near the Ravenclaw dormitory, in an attempt to avoid the worst of the depression and escalating tensions. He had chosen the spot because he well knew it was a favourite of Cassie's, and with a crackling fire and a welcoming set of comfortable armchairs, he figured it was the best chance he'd have at a last-ditch effort to repair the bridge between them before tomorrow's F.A.R.T club meeting.

Sure enough, the door eased open sometime around seven thirty, and James rushed towards it, catching a _very_ alarmed-looking Cassie a half-step into the room. She shot a glance behind her worriedly, but James charged on before she could protest.

'Cassie I'm so sorry, I've been keeping secrets because I was worried that if I told you, then other people would find out, and I was worried about the Lenders coming for us. I really thought everyone would have wanted to win that F.A.R.T club, I thought R.U.S.T might protect us, I didn't mean to keep anything from you, but when they didn't attack straight afterwards I thought they had forgotten, and we were safe…'

He trailed off, he hadn't been able to admit the _real_ reason he had been keeping secrets; that he wanted to be the one to take all the glory, when it was all said and done, that he wanted to be the one to do it alone, to call all the shots by himself. He could hardly admit that to himself yet, let alone voice it out loud. What he had said was a start, though, and he desperately hoped that Cassie would realise that.

'I have something else, I've been dying to tell you, it's about the Heart, a secret, a _real_ secret. I think I know what caused all the new alerts and rules and things, you see–'

'No.'

James blinked, twice.

'No James Potter, I don't want to hear it.'

'But I–'

'You heard me, I don't want to know about it. I told you, I'm finished with that, _all_ of it. I don't care what stupid little plot you are trying to dabble in now James, or how you are trying to manipulate things so that you will be the hero at the end of the day. I'm out indefinitely, James. Until you realise that this _isn't_ James Potter's world, and we are just living in it, I don't want to know you, I don't want to know any of it.

'Now, _if_ you'll excuse me, I have a transfiguration assignment to prepare for. _Some of us_ need a perfect score for the remainder of the term to even _pass_ the subject.'

With that, she spun on her heel and left, tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes. James stepped hurriedly out into the corridor, with the intent to follow her, and almost collided head first with a wrapped-up bundle of red-gold hair wearing a wicked grin.

'So, James Potter has a secret that he is dying to tell. Well, it just so happens that right now, I'm all ears.'

Rain's voice was breathy and soft, her body was radiating warmth in the cool night air. James sighed forlornly as Cassie disappeared around a corner. These girls were going to be the death of him.


	18. Chapter 18

James dropped his eyes from Cassie's retreating back, to Rain before him. He started at the intensity of her gaze, and her close proximity. He felt her eyes boring into him, and a creeping, now-familiar nausea slowly wending its way up his spine. He took an involuntary step back, and she matched him perfectly inch for inch. He could smell her scent, fresh and crisp, like soft earth after, well, rain. She was giving off heat in waves, and James began to feel a trickle of sweat bead at the nape of his neck. Dizziness was threatening to overcome him, and he grabbed hold of the door frame. A small part of his mind was screaming at how unnatural this was, that something wasn't right here. This wasn't the same light-headedness that Rain's attention usually brought him, this was something more sinister, more _controlling_. He stepped back into the room he had just left, forcing himself to break eye contact and marching over to an empty chair in an attempt to put distance between himself and this eerie version of his friend.

'So you – you're feeling better now?' he asked, a panicked edge creeping into his voice as Rain marched across the room to where he was sat.

His simple question, a desperate attempt to drag some normalcy into this insane scene, seemed to break whatever reverie she had sunk into, and pulled her up a few strides before him. Her eyes widened momentarily and she gave the tiniest of gasps, before dashing over to James and crouching down beside his armchair, apology writ plainly across her face.

'Oh James I'm so sorry, I was doing it again, wasn't I? It's these damned potions, I'm struggling to control my moods. Madam Petheridge gave me another one to combat all the excessive energy, but it makes me really intense and scary, or really sad and emotional. They just can't seem to get it right.'

She was looking up at him, those sea-green eyes wide and a touch ambivalent. Her fingers were touching his sleeve, and where they lay he now felt a seeping _coldness_ spreading through him. James reckoned his father would have sided with Voldemort before he was able to figure this girl out.

'It's… it's fine,' James offered with a wobbly smile, 'just that staring thing, it gets a little scary. And you know you _are_ the secret love child of Voldemort and Bellatrix and Dumbledore, or whatever the latest rumour is. Slightly terrifying sort of follows you around wherever you go.'

He gathered himself and gave her what he hoped was a more reassuring smile, and a sort of awkward pat on the arm. That same coldness was still there, but by this stage he had more or less given up on asking. Rain and weird went hand-in-hand. As long as she wasn't making his stomach do backflips, or the world spin each time she looked his way James had figured it was better to just not ask.

'Well I hope I don't terrify _you_ at least,' she replied with a mocking smile, 'I should hope the great James Potter isn't afraid of a little girl like me.'

James thought back to his recent trip to the Heart, most of which he had spent clutching to Professor Meadows' robe like a little child, or just now, when he had run from one of his closest friends because she gave him a scary look. He might just need to start working on that Gryffindor bravery thing a little bit.

He barked a laugh as his only response. He was starting fresh with the whole _not lying_ thing, after all.

'Now where were we,' Rain said, as she rose gracefully and perched herself carefully on the edge of a nearby footstool.

The way she sat, her back ramrod-straight, her hair falling about her face, framing it perfectly as if she had spent an hour fixing it just right, everything down to the way she folded her slender hands in her lap, just screamed aristocracy to James. He was reminded in a sudden rush of déjà vu of the night of the Sorting, where Rain had sat like a queen on the shabby Stool of Sorting, and looked out at the students and teachers as if they were her subjects.

'Well, I was just sort of leaving,' James said. His failed attempt with Cassie had knocked the wind out of his sails significantly, and he was starting to feel drained and ready for bed. The voice inside his head that had been warning him of Rain's intense mood was back again, saying that telling her about the Heart may not be the best of ideas.

He paused at that. There was an odd notion. He had just recently made a pledge to hide nothing from his friends and here, still, was some part of him railing against fulfilling that very promise. Was it the same desire to be the hero again, perhaps? Did he think whatever Rain possessed in the way of mysterious, hidden power – if anything – was going to be some sort of threat to his legacy? He frowned inwardly, stamping down on the voice. He was doing poorly enough keeping hold of his friends as it was, and besides, it's not like anything _really_ secret happened; he bet that all the teachers already knew what had occurred by now. If _they_ could all know; if he had been invited in the first place, it mustn't be _that big_ of a deal.

 _She was the last thing you thought of before the Heart shattered._

That was the last he heard from that argumentative voice, and it stopped James completely, for a brief second. How was that even–?

'Am I losing you, James?' Rain's face appeared inches from his own, wearing an innocent smile. Her perfectly dimpled cheeks were flushed, and her breath smelt of fresh mint.

James lost his train of thought entirely. Where had he been? He was about to tell Rain all about the Heart, of course.

And so, despite the feeblest of cries from that tiny voice in the back of his head, James spilled the entire story, leaving out not a skerrick. As the details spilled forth from his mouth, he felt a gentle calm overcoming him, almost caressing him, encouraging him to keep going, to make sure that he covered everything as best he could. When he got to the part about the memories of his father, Rain's eyes flickered with a fierce intensity. James could barely stop himself from telling her about it, so eager was he feeling. He leaned in until their noses were nearly touching, and recounted it in the finest of details. She was particularly intent upon the content of those memories; all the finer details, the people in them besides his father, what was going on around them at the time. James tried his best, he _really_ wanted to tell her, but he had had eyes only for Harry Potter, and recalled little else, aside from the empty room in which his entry had been thwarted.

As he wrapped up his story, he noticed Rain looking a tad unsettled, disgruntled even. She had frowned when he mentioned his narrow-minded focus in the memories of his father. He worried if he had upset her, had he not done well enough telling her the story? He tried to cram all the details he could in about the final parts, the sickening purple fissures, the way they crackled across the entranceway to the Heart, and the way they winked back at him almost mockingly in the torchlight afterwards.

'Well, that settles it,' Rain said flatly, when James had finished speaking, 'we are going for a look. You promised me a trip to the eighth floor at the start of term James, and I am cashing that in now.'

Immediately James opened his mouth to agree, but something held him back a split second. There it was again, that feeble voice, still desperately calling to him from where he had quashed it. Telling him that something was wrong here, and that this was a terrible idea. There was no way to bypass the security, the voice argued, and besides, even if you got to the eighth floor, there was no way of locating the Heart again. He had no access to an Anchor, and they were hardly going to be left lying about the school considering the current state of alert.

 _But think of the opportunity._ Every other fibre of his being was telling him. A chance to see the Heart, unrestricted access, a chance to wade through the memories, as many as he liked. He could watch his father to his heart's content. His _grandfather_ even. He remembered the call that he felt, quiet of late, but now that he focused on it he felt it redouble, almost as a physical force, and he let out a gasp for air under its weight.

Rain was looking eagerly, expectantly, up at him from her three-legged throne. She was waiting for his answer. Waiting for the answer that she knew was coming, that James knew was coming, which he was unable to avoid. The tiny voice in his head screamed and railed as he nodded his head mutely, a vacant smile adorning his face.

'Sure,' he found himself saying, 'we can go tonight if you want.'

 _Tonight?!_

Rain gave a little giggle, and waved his suggestion away.

'I do admire your enthusiasm James, however we are going to need to plan this a little. _I_ am going to need to plan this a little. Be patient, and I will call upon you when the time comes.'

With that, she abruptly rose, brushing her fingertips across the back of James' hand where it rested on the arm of the chair. He shivered at her contact, still icy to the touch. Goosebumps rose on his skin, despite the heat of the nearby fire, as she strode elegantly from the room, the door opening before her unbidden, just another victim of her regal charm.

Once she was gone James sagged in the chair, letting out a lengthy sigh. He felt curiously drained, enervated beyond reason. He pushed himself up on shaky arms, hugging himself in an attempt to work some warmth into his chilled bones, and shuffled off towards the Gryffindor tower and the comfort of his waiting bed, already forgetting much of the encounter which he had just had.

The next morning dawned grey and sullen, as every morning had for the past fortnight at least. James peered glumly through the crack in the curtains, trying to make out the goal posts on the Quidditch pitch from his window, but with little luck. Snow and sleet still filled the air, drastically cutting visibility. Tiny flakes whirled and spun, crashing up against the window, throwing themselves violently into the icy panes, where they stuck and met a dripping, watery end.

James shivered, and wrapped his thickest blanket around his shoulders, pulling it tight about him. He _really_ hoped that F.A.R.T club was going to be something easy today, something indoors, possibly next to a fireplace. A nice game of Exploding Snap, perhaps, or maybe a round of Gobstones.

From the way the intensity had risen between the last two meetings, James was sure that even had they been sitting around in a prayer circle someone would have ended up with a black eye, or a third arm, or covered in boils. The first-years were pushing themselves well beyond the limits of what many previous years had achieved. They were practicing spells in their own time, trying to learn more and more complex wandwork in order to stay at the front of the class. Dominique had hinted after the last meeting, that they might be asked to test out their knowledge of magic as well as their knowledge of the castle in the upcmoing rounds, and the students had taken to the task with an almost alarming vigour.

There could be only one winner of the Mystery Grand Prize, after all.

James changed into his robes as quietly as possible, and crept from the dormitory. With a bit of luck Freddy and Clip might both sleep in, and their teams would be at a huge disadvantage for the day. His own team was currently sat in fifth position; both Fred and Clip were ahead of his team. The way today was shaping up though, he thought he might be lucky if their team finished at all, after Cassie had stormed out on him last night.

He just hoped Holly's ire had dissipated somewhat, to a level where she wouldn't simply hex him on sight.

With a pang of disappointment, James was halfway through his breakfast when all of his friends came down together, joining him toward the centre of the Gryffindor table, as close as they could manage to the fireplace.

'Hoping we wouldn't wake up?' Freddy asked with a wink as he settled on James' left, 'I contemplated slipping you a Sleeping Draught last night. You looked a little restless. Like you needed a good twenty or so hours of sleep.'

James shook his head innocently, but mentally reminded himself not to accept any beverages from Freddy leading up to the final F.A.R.T club. _If_ his team made it through this one in one piece, that was.

'I heard that we were going to be Yeti-hunting,' Cat piped up. James promptly choked on his spoonful of cereal.

'This again?' asked Clip. 'Wouldn't that ruin the fun for when we go together, after the storm has stopped?'

'Oh, well I suppose it would,' Cat looked a little put-out at the prospect. Her mother had spent a large amount of Cat's formative years trekking across the Scandinavian Peninsula, presumably looking out for all sorts of snow-related mythical creatures. James supposed it was only natural that she miss those times.

As James jammed another spoonful of cereal into his mouth, he felt someone slap him on the back, hard, and the choking returned with a vengeance, causing him to cough milky mush all down the front of his robes.

'How long do you reckon you'll last today, Potter?' Preston Lynch sneered from behind him, flanked by two second-years. 'I've my money on fifteen minutes before that Brooks minx blasts your head off like a fat pumpkin. Caleb here thinks it'll be Featherstone, but I reckon she's all bark and no bite.'

'Shove off, Lynch,' Freddy growled from across the table, 'you made a good statue, lying on the floor in front of the finish line last time around. Even better was that you couldn't talk.'

' _Weasley,'_ Preston spat the name as if it were a curse, 'you keep your little ginger head out of this. If I wanted the opinion of a dead man, I'd head outside and have a chat with Dumbledore–'

He got no further than that, as James and Fred both sprung up from their seats in unison, diving towards their antagonistic classmate. James went low, wrapping his arms around Preston's legs, while Fred came in high, across the table, sending jugs of pumpkin juice and bowls of food flying.

'Flipendo!' came a cry from the direction of the staff table, and James heard a very Fred-like squeal, followed by the sound of a body colliding with wood, cutlery, and several disgruntled students.

In their anger, the boys had completely forgot about their wands, and that was about to cost James, as he felt Preston hastily rummaging through his robes to draw his own.

'Stop! Cut it out, all of you! This instant!' the voice of Professor Longbottom reverberated over the excited chatter in the Great Hall, and silence fell, like a blanket draped across them all.

James felt a firm hand grab him by the collar and hoist him up unceremoniously to his feet. He tottered for a moment, throwing Preston the dirtiest look he could muster.

James, Fred, that will be twenty points from Gryffindor, and you're both coming with me.

'But–' James began.

'We can't–' spluttered Fred.

' _Now._ ' Professor Longbottom's voiced brooked no argument.

The smug smile that Preston Lynch flashed the pair of them as they were marched away was almost enough to test Professor Longbottom's reflexes, and to hell with the consequences.

Fred eyed him nervously, and all of their friends cast worried looks in their direction from where they sat around the table. F.A.R.T club started in less than a quarter of an hour. Surely Professor Longbottom knew that. He wouldn't keep them long, he'd give them a stern talking to and set them back on their way.

Wouldn't he?

The pair were marched at a brisk pace all the way to Professor Longbottom's office, on the ground floor. He closed the door behind them, cast a warming charm on the chilly room, and waved his wand at the fireplace. A crackling fire burst to life, heat washing over the two boys. Despite the added comfort, James still felt icy cold. The professor had been prepping the room as if they were going to be in here for a while. Like, much more than fifteen minutes type of while.

The room itself was cosy, especially now that a fire was roaring away in the hearth. Everything was dark, panelled wood, polished to a dull lustre. Bench space was at a premium, as James saw all manner of plant-life, both in the flesh and on the pages of books, looking back at him calmly.

A large, mahogany desk, simple yet imposing, much like the professor himself, dominated the far end of the room. With another wave of his wand two small, squishy armchairs appeared for James and Fred. A curt gesture motioned them to sit, and they hastily obeyed. A tiny glimmer of hope remained for James that perhaps the just _might_ get out of here on time. If they didn't make it back to their team before F.A.R.T started, they must get disqualified surely.

The professor leaned back against his desk, placing his wand carefully back into a holster at his belt. He surveyed the boys above folded arms and a grim expression for several, lengthy moments. All the while James' patience was dissipating. He started tapping his foot rapidly on the floor.

'Professor–' Fred began, caving only seconds before James himself was about to.

Neville silenced him with a pointed wave of his hand; nothing more was required. Before them stood a man who was all-but an institution now within the walls of Hogwarts. A much-loved professor, friend to so many of the students and teachers alike. It was easy to forget that here before them was a man who had defied Voldemort to his face, and killed possibly his most precious of Horcruxes armed with naught but a sword and the second-largest serving of Gryffindor courage in modern memory.

When Neville Longbottom turned his ire upon you, one could but bend to his will.

'I'm disappointed, boys, in the both of you. Attacking another student in the Great Hall, during meal time. Surrounded by bystanders. Think, if anyone had drawn a wand in that chaos, a rogue spell could have hit anybody.'

The boys squirmed in their seats.

'But Professor, Lynch said-'

'I don't care what Preston Lynch may or may not have said,' Neville cut across Fred again, his voice starting to prickle with a rising anger, 'what I saw was two young wizards physically assaulting a fellow student in a public area. People have been suspended from the school for less.'

James grimaced; that was unfair. What Lynch had said was unforgiveable, like one of the Curses, as far as James was concerned. Referring to Fred's deceased Uncle like that. They had _all_ lost people in the war; it took someone of very questionable moral scruples to even think about bringing it up, particularly in that manner.

'Is that what you two boys want to be seen as? Brawlers, ruffians, thugs? That is what they will be saying now, behind your backs. James Potter and Fred Weasley, don't say anything that they don't agree with, or they will attack you.

'Do you not think times are tough enough already, without exacerbating the situation?'

The boys both nodded mutely. Neville was doing an excellent job at making James feel chastised.

'But Professor, please, he made fun of Fred's uncle.'

James forced the sentence out through a lull in Neville's lecture. The professor's face softened, and James saw the corners of his eyes tighten only slightly. Neville's gaze flicked to the corner of the room, and James followed it with his own. There stood a photo, starkly framed in plain, pale wood, standing bold against the backdrop of polished mahogany and oak. A multitude of figures waved merrily out from within. From the distance James struggled to make them all out, but at the back stood two tall red-headed boys. It didn't take much imagination to see the mischievous smiles that they must have been sporting.

Unbidden, and almost as if it were automatic, Fred stood slowly up from his chair, his feet carrying him to where the photo stood. James caught Neville's eye and made to join him, but his professor motioned kindly for James to stay seated.

Some things had to be faced alone.

Fred stood there for a long time, in silence, a single hand on the frame of the portrait, a wobbly smile barely meeting his watery eyes. Outside the room, scores of first-year students began sprinting off around the castle, seemingly devoid of reasoning, but James didn't even notice the time pass. He had eyes only for his friend, his cousin, and the physical manifestation of the crushing grief that he must be feeling.

After several minutes, professor Longbottom stood up slowly, and ambled over to place a firm, reassuring hand on Fred's shoulder. He crouched down, and spoke a few sentences in Fred's ear. Whatever it was that he said, it had an immediate effect, as James watched his friend straighten, and puff his chest out proudly, a warm smile spreading instantly across his face.

As Fred returned to his seat, and Neville to his perch on the edge of his desk, James shot the professor a look, and in it he tried to force all of the gratitude, the compassion and the sheer, unadulterated _love_ that he could muster. He received a small, sad smile and a simple nod in response. The professor looked away momentarily, towards the photo one last time, and whispered something softly beneath his breath.

'Too soon, too many,' was all that James could hear.

James gripped Fred's shoulder, and gave it an encouraging squeeze, like he saw Ron do with his own father when a case went bad, or someone at work got hurt. Freddy looked over at him, his eyes a little bloodshot, but he returned James' smile. It was something the pair rarely talked about, and it was easy to forget something like this when the Weasleys all gave off such strong outward appearances. But the War had rocked them; they had paid a dear price for their freedom, and it was a burden that every single one of them carried, to this very day.

James felt his own eyes beginning to sting. He had never been more proud to be part of such a family.

'The entire first year takes its lead from the pair of you. It may not be clear from where you stand, but as a teacher, it is plain to see. They look to both of you, to all of your group, especially in times like this. Remember this James, Fred, when you encounter situations such as this morning.

'When you take rash actions such as these, the other students see it as acceptable, if the Weasleys and the Potters begin fighting, then so, too, will they. The school, sadly, draws inimical attention yet again, and there are threats both from without and within. Now, more than ever, we require unity. We are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided. Remember that, both of you.'

Both boys nodded mutely. To think the _entire_ first year took their lead from the pair of them, it seemed to James to be mightily unfair; he was a twelve year old boy, in his first year of schooling. He was no more experienced than any of them, what was it that they saw in him? Was it just because of who his father was, because of his last name? He hardly _felt_ like a leader, he had been attacked when he had tried to broker peace amongst the first-years, the one time he really had stood up and tried to get them to do what he wanted, they had turned around and done the exact opposite.

There was a lesson in that, but James would not come to realise it for a long time yet.

He looked up at Professor Longbottom a little sheepishly. He supposed he hadn't been the best example of a leader, even aside from that instance. It was widely publicised, his falling out with Cassie and Holly, and the current most popular rumour was that he had sold their safety for a chance to get back in the running at the second F.A.R.T meeting, effectively handing them over to the Lenders as payment for a guaranteed top spot.

The part that really stung was that the rumour was not all that far from the truth.

It was obvious what he had to do. He was being pushed from all angles to promote unity and co-operation amongst the first years, to lay the foundation stones for a group of students that could grow to be real leaders of the Wizarding World. A group that, Merlin forbid, should a third Wizarding War ever come to pass, would not hesitate to stand as one on the side of Good, and not be the same fractured, fearful bunch that had preceded them.

It was a task that should never have been laid at the feet of two twelve year old boys. It would have been a challenge for the entire staff of Hogwarts. They had failed at it in the past, obviously. But as the two boys in question shared a glance across the room, jaws set in firm determination, fists clenched at their sides, James knew that it was one at which he refused to fail. And he also knew where his path to success lay from here. If one was to lead, one must lead by example.

Neville simply nodded, and gave the pair a tight smile.

'You know the task that lies ahead of you James, and you Fred. You must start this journey today, before it is too late, and you must begin with yourselves.'

With that, all three stood up. James took a step forward and reached out to shake his professor's hand. Men shook hands when a deal was made, and whatever else their discussion this past hour had been, it had been a discussion among men.

All three clasped hands, and the two boys strode from the room, backs straight and heads high. As the door swung shut behind them, a single tear rolled down the cheek of the lone soul left in the room. He turned to look once more at the photo, and another one, kept on a shelf above it, that showed a middle age witch and wizard smiling and waving merrily out at him.

'I miss you mum, dad,' Neville whispered.

The ramifications of the discussion the three had just had would echo for years ahead, decades even. The true effects upon the world would be beyond quantification. Often the fickle swing of Chance was pushed one way or the other by men such as Neville Longbottom. Men who may not be remembered as the Great Hero, the Saviour, or even as the Sidekick. But without men like Neville Longbottom, the Heroes would not be remembered at all.

The boys wandered the halls together, in silence, for a long time after their meeting with Professor Longbottom. There was little to say; they both knew the path ahead of them, and they needed the quiet to reflect on what had been said. The morning slunk away into a dreary afternoon. The pair didn't even realise the lack of first-year students barrelling about the corridors, or what that might signify.

Eventually, as their stomachs drove them downward toward the Great Hall, the pair rose from their deep, introspective thoughts for long enough to remember what day it was. Together they rushed down with the hope of catching the teams as they finished up in the usual spot in the centre of the Entrance Hall.

As they dashed down the final staircase, burning with anticipation, they came across nearly the entire year group, milling about in the Hall, chattering excitedly. It appeared to James that the Hunt must have been over, and his stomach clenched at the thought. Their fate in the race for the Mystery Grand Prize would have been sealed already, and he had not been able to partake in it at all. The thought galled him, his only hope was that his team hadn't been disqualified on the spot for arriving with fewer than the regulation number of members.

James spied Cat first of all, at the edge of the cluster nearest them. She was a good head and shoulders taller than anyone else in their year, and she dashed up the final few steps to meet them, an ear-to-ear grin on her face. As she approached James noticed she was completely soaked, bits of snow still clung to her robe in parts, and a couple of stray leaves and a broken twig were jammed in her hair.

'What have you been _doing?'_ James asked incredulously.

'Oh it's just been _so much fun!'_ Cat squealed in reply, jumping up and down excitedly. 'We even got to go outside and play in the snow!'

'Well maybe _you_ played in the snow, Kattala, but the rest of us were actually _trying to win.'_ This from an exasperated Emry Sameer, who was standing at the base of the steps, listening to their conversation.

James smiled wistfully, that sounded _exactly_ like Kattala Lovegood.

'What's everyone milling about for?' he asked her, gesturing to the crowds below.

She squealed in excitement again, and James fought the urge to cover his poor, assaulted ear drums.

'Apparently there was the _most exciting_ photo finish ever! Preston Lynch and Clip both dived for the statue at the last minute, and nobody can tell who touched it first, so Dominique is going back through it magically to find out.'

James groaned at the prospect of Preston Lynch having won F.A.R.T club. That would definitely put him back in the race for the Mystery Grand Prize, and it wouldn't make James' task any easier.

'Listen up, everybody,' Dominique's voice rose over the chatter. She wasn't much taller than a lot of the first years, and so had a small conjured box to stand on, and her wand was pointed at her throat, magically amplifying her voice so that all could hear. 'In the closest finish in F.A.R.T club history, we are now ready to announce the winner! If Clip Wallace and Preston Lynch could step forward please.'

James watched both boys approach the small gap in the crowd which had formed around Dom and the finish-line-statue. Even from this distance he could see the smouldering glares that the two boys shared behind Dominique's back.

 _Come on Clip._

Dom was talking quietly to both boys, instructing them on something with their wands. Preston was standing in haughty disregard, while Clip listened intently, his left hand twitching nervously. Dom eventually straightened and returned wand to throat.

'Upon my instruction, both boys will place their wands on the statue as directed. The statue will remember who the first to touch it was, and that wand will glow golden, thus announcing our winner!'

The excited chatter quickly died down. James and Fred stayed in their vantage point halfway up the staircase; they had a perfect view of the statue from where they stood. The boys shared a glance, and a single nod. James' fists were clenched, and he saw Fred had a white-knuckled grip on the bannister beside him.

Clip and Preston stepped up to the statue, drawing their wands; Lynch with a flourish, Clip calmly and confidently.

Dom gestured the two forward, and they stepped up to the statue. Lynch leaned in and placed his wand against one shoulder of the humanoid figure, with Clip on the other.

The whole crowd held their breath in anticipation.

Somewhere in the castle, several floors above, a student let out a grating cry of anguish over some unknown disaster. James felt like he wanted to join in as Preston Lynch's wand began to emit a soft, golden glow. He and Fred both sagged, faces into palms. Preston was cheering now, pumping his fists in the air and whooping. His team rushed up to celebrate with him. Clip held out a hand for a handshake, but it went ignored, and the four victors danced and laughed to the backdrop of polite applause.

Clip's team surrounded him, offering condolences, patting him on the back. Even from this distance James could see Rain glaring thunderheads at Lynch. Georgia Braithwaite was talking rapid-fire, revenge tactics possibly, while Michael Tring stood with his shoulders slumped, looking every bit as defeated as Clip.

Slowly, the crowd began to disperse, and Preston Lynch pushed and shoved his way through the press to get to the Grand Staircase first, leaving many a disgruntled classmate in his wake. He was flanked by a pair of Gryffindor boys, first years this time. Corvus Summerbee and Odin Mills, were their names. Thugs, Uncle Ron would have called them.

'Out of my way, losers,' Preston snarled, as he saw the two boys impeding his path. Thug One and Thug Two cracked their knuckles menacingly in the background.

His challenge had quickly caught the attention of the majority of the first year, and students who had been heading back to their dormitories froze in their tracks, intent on the confrontation that was now quickly developing on the Grand Staircase, in full view of everyone there.

James glanced at Fred again, a look of steely resolve, and the two boys straightened, drawing themselves up to their full, twelve-year-old height. Neither reached for wands, despite the openly hostile air between the two parties.

Scores of curious faces looked up at them, eager to see a second round of the morning's exchange, no doubt. James saw his team; Holly, Cassie and Tristan, in the front row at the base of the staircase. Tristan had half a foot up on the next step, looking like he was coming to help. James shook his head ever so slightly. This was something that they had to do alone.

'I don't like repeating myself,' Lynch snapped, 'now shove off out of the way, back to wherever you've been hiding all morning. Maybe if you'd been there your teams might have had a better showing. I don't move for losers, so shove it.'

Odin and Corvus went for wands, but James kept his hands firmly at his sides. His hackles were rising, and an uncomfortable sensation was creeping up his spine, as two wands were levelled at him with no defences in place.

He looked Preston in the eye, scanned the crowd quickly, and set his shoulders. With nearly the entirety of the first year looking on, and with Professor Longbottom's words echoing, nay, roaring through his head, James Potter stepped forward to speak.

 _A/N: F.A.R.T club results after three of four rounds. They are written as Team (place the came in the third Hunt), place overall, number of points overall. E.g. Preston (1st) 5th, 91pts_

 _Clip (2nd) 1st overall, 108pts_

 _Cat (9th) 2nd-equal overall, 102pts_

 _Emry (3rd) 2nd-equal overall, 102pts_

 _Fred (7th) 4th overall, 94pts_

 _Preston (1st) 5th overall, 91pts_

 _James (6th) 6th-equal overall, 90pts_

 _Bianca (5th) 6th-equal overall, 90pts_

 _Another update awaits us this weekend, so stay tuned!_


	19. Chapter 19

Voices were frozen within the Entrance Hall, eyes flashed winks of reflected sunlight as they all turned up to James and Fred. The only sounds were the howling of the wind as it railed fitfully against the implacable castle walls. A single, loose, window pane rattled in the floor above. One student coughed, and then another.

The three steps between James and Preston felt like a mile apiece, as his two lackeys began fidgeting with their wands, looking eager to strike. The uncomfortable feeling was seeping into every fibre of James' being now. Having two wands trained on him when he was defenceless was not a scenario he was eager to repeat.

But for Fred at his side, and the strength he gained from Neville's words, James would not have been there at all.

The two boys stopped before a scowling Preston, his beady eyes darting back and forth, filled with confusion and malice. James held his hands out to his side, in as unthreatening of a manner as he could manage. He couldn't afford for this to blow up in his face; Neville was right, there was too much riding on it, especially because of all of their fellow first-years watching eagerly on.

'We just–' James cleared his throat, a little nervously, and raised his voice so the gathered first years could hear him over the howling wind. 'We just wanted to say, Preston, that we are awfully sorry for attacking you the way we did this morning, unprovoked like that.'

The words burned as they came from his mouth, but James' would not stop now, _could_ not stop now. He clenched one fist and forced himself to look directly at Preston, in his gaze the confusion was fast winning out over the anger. Preston flicked a glance at Fred, then back to James again, who continued the level stare, unflinching.

'I'm sorry that I took what you said as an offence,' Fred grated out. His teeth weren't clenched, but James could see a vein sticking out on his neck; this must be _hard_ for him. He tried to send all the strength and encouragement he could in the direction of his friend. 'Our actions were rash. We regret any harm that we may have caused you, and hope that you will accept our apology, and that we can move on as friends.'

James could almost hear the intake of breath from eighty-odd mouths below them, as he and Fred extended hands to Preston. Slowly, as if it had a mind of its own, the soft susurrus of whispered conversations began to pervade the hall, rising in pitch and intensity until it was clearly heard above the wild weather outside.

It was a drawn-out moment, as James and Fred stood there, completely vulnerable, in front of their least favourite person in the entire castle. James' shoulders were knotted, just waiting for a spell to hit him. A few older students had begun to wander down for a late lunch, but even they were halted by the scene before them, the gravity of it clearly writ on the faces of enraptured onlookers.

'What are you playing at, Potter?' Preston spat, looking at their hands as if they were live Weasley Wildfire Whizbangs, and they were seconds from going off. 'I don't want your apologies. I meant what I said this morning; you are both still losers. Now get out of my way before we Hex you out.'

'Fine, fine,' James said, his hand falling disparagingly to his side. He hadn't _really_ thought there would be any other outcome, but one could always hope. 'I just hope you remember this, because there is something going on out there, a storm is coming. A real one. There are people out there doing bad things. _Really_ bad things, not just cheating on a test, or using wands in the hallways. People like that don't spend a lot of time worrying about what happens to eleven year olds if they get in the way.

'And we have the Lenders. I'm not afraid to say it. Everybody here knows that they have been meddling in this F.A.R.T club since day one. This was supposed to be a fun way to help us learn the castle, and a bit of extra magic on the side. A new club to join, something only for the first-years.'

He was speaking to the entire audience now, more than just Preston and his cronies. Every eye was fixated on him, every breath was held, intent on what he would dare to say next.

'We have let them turn it into their private, black-market gambling ring. Paying us and blackmailing us so that we can make them more money. They don't care how we do, they don't care about if we finish safely, or who gets hurt along the way. Most importantly, they don't care about us, about our friendships and our happiness, which is what F.A.R.T club was supposed to be all about.

'What I'm really saying is this Preston. If you don't want to accept our apologies or our friendship, that is fine, but I don't see the Lenders sitting idly by as the final F.A.R.T club goes down. We are going to look out for everyone, regardless, because this is about _us_. I just need to know if we can trust you to have our backs.'

Preston hadn't moved the entire time James was speaking. His mouth was slightly open, his eyes were burning with a fervent fire. As the last echo of James' voice faded, and the crowd let out the breath that they had collectively been holding, he turned to the two boys before him and sneered.

'I don't need your help Potter. I don't _want_ your help, either. I am going to win this without you and your stupid speeches. I won't ask again. Get. Out. Of. My. Way.'

Odin and Corvus, who had both been briefly encapsulated by James' speaking, raised their wands again, and this time Preston did the same. James saw Tristan take another step towards them, his own wand levelled at Preston's back. He willed his friend to back down, the moment was fragile enough without the promise of a dirty sneak attack from behind.

Fred squeezed James' shoulder, and slowly the two boys took a step to the side, enough to let Preston's group through. They brushed past James firmly, making him stagger, but he didn't look back as their footfalls receded up the staircase. The itching, uncomfortable sensation didn't leave until James could no longer hear their furious, whispered conversation.

The rest of the crowd hadn't moved. Now that the staircases were clear, the confrontation was over, they should have been meandering off to carry on with their respective days. All still remained. James didn't know what he had expected, he wasn't sure he had expected _anything_ from them. The last time he had spoken like that he had been Hexed and jammed down the back of an armchair. The fact that not a single wand had been drawn was at least one positive, surely.

The whispers started again, louder this time, like an angry breeze drawing its claws through the trees. Here and there students stared outright, and a small group of Hufflepuffs was even pointing up at him, unreadable looks on their faces from this distance.

One or two students from the edge of the group were looking about to break away. James grimaced; if this speech had as little effect as the last one then who knew what was going to happen come the last F.A.R.T club. Likely they would just be sitting ducks for the Lenders to pick off at will, and raise up whichever champion they felt would make them the wealthiest.

A small disturbance in the crowd began, a stirring as a single figure pushed their way to the front of the group. Similar to Preston's march through the crowd there were several disgruntled students left in the wake, and James heard the calls of 'excuse me! Sorry! Pardon me!' from where he was standing. He knew that voice.

Clip.

His friend burst through the front ranks of onlookers and marched purposefully up the stairs to where James and Fred stood. He paused a single step below them, and cleared his throat.

'I am with you, my team is with you boys. This is our competition to win or lose, and we won't let any crazy megalomaniacs take it over. Not on our watch.'

Clip closed the gap between them, and wrapped both boys up in a fierce embrace. James was smiling like an idiot, until he heard a voice whisper in his ear.

'This doesn't mean I'm going easy on either of you.'

The three broke up, all laughing amicably, and that seemed to be the catalyst that sparked the remaining students to life. Chatter flared up, people sought out friends and life returned to the stunned crowd. Many began to drift away now, back to finish whatever business they may have on a frosty Sunday afternoon.

Much to James and Fred's shard surprise, many more came to them. Students they hardly knew, from all four houses, boys and girls they hadn't even shared a conversation with before, and they came in droves to shake their hand, or to hug, or simply to just stand in their presence.

And every single one offered the same four words.

'We are with you.'

James wasn't sure about Fred, but he was feeling like he could have bought Clip all the chocolate in Honeydukes right then. He grinned stupidly as he accepted each offer of solidarity, each symbol of support.

For the leader was not always the most important figure in any movement, in any gathering of individuals. That honour, that duty, was at the feet of the first follower; that lone soul brave enough to speak up first, to open himself up to ridicule from others because he dared to be _different._ Clip well knew this, and James loved him all the more for it.

The crowds cleared away eventually, after well more than half had passed by James and Fred. James looked up, wondering if lunch was still being served, as his stomach was beginning to become quite restless, and saw three figures left standing at the base of the stairs.

Tristan, Cassie and Holly.

'Right,' Fred announced loudly, clapping his hands together, 'I think it might be time for some lunch. Would you two care to join?' He practically grabbed Cat and Clip by the robes and dragged them along behind, as he marched directly towards the doors of the Great Hall.

On the way past he herded Tristan off with the group. From this distance it didn't look to James like he needed a lot of convincing. This was going to be an awkward enough conversation as it was.

James slowly trudged down the stairs, to where the girls were standing. He met them on the ground floor, a single hand still on the railing, toying awkwardly with the decorative stone.

He looked up at his two once-friends, and wondered why they were here, together, like this. Nobody had wands out, which was a start, but he thought Cassie had made her position clear the night before. He thought he knew Cassie, and once she was set upon a course of action or an idea, she was difficult to budge.

'So… we er… we came sixth,' Holly offered, scuffing the floor with a dainty foot. They were both looking down, ignoring James' best efforts to make eye contact. 'Professor Longbottom sent this silvery lion-thing to Dominique, and told her that you weren't going to show up. She still let us play. We were leading for most of it, but we had to go outside and fly a lap around the Quidditch Pitch on brooms. Preston knocked Cassie off her broom, and we sort of got lost a little–'

'A frankly ridiculous idea, if you ask me,' Cassie snapped. She looked up, and for a brief moment James caught her gaze. Those dark eyes were lit with the fire of self-righteous fury, a look James had been missing the past months. He smiled, in spite of himself.

'James Sirius Potter, it was _not_ funny. I could have been seriously injured, and do you _know_ how deep the snow is out there? They had to come and dig me out, everyone was _freezing_ , and to top it off Tristan went and flew his broom into the side of the stand!'

Now James was _really_ having to try hard to remain serious. He wished he had been there for that. Never mind that it cost them a shot at first place, or that Preston was up to more of his terrible tricks. Cassie and Holly were talking to him again; in light of that, the other stuff just seemed insignificant.

He lost it completely when he looked over at Holly and saw her lips turned up ever so slightly. Her pale grey eyes were sparkling in the torchlight. Cassie's mask of severity was firmly in place, but Holly, despite the fact that _she_ was the Slytherin of the pair, was beginning to crack.

A big, stupid grin crawled slowly across James' face. He looked between his friends, back and forth, the most open, encouraging look he could muster.

'I- I've missed you guys,' he blurted out into the momentary silence. 'I'm really sorry for–'

'Save it, Potter,' Cassie snapped in mock severity. James looked alarmed, but her face softened, and the barest hint of a smile showed through. 'It's us who needs to say sorry. We all knew the dangers of this ridiculous club after the first week. We were all in the firing line, something was bound to happen eventually.'

'If you had asked us beforehand,' Holly spoke up, 'I think… I think I still would have said to go for it. I don't want to be scared of the Lenders, James. I want to fight back, I want to _show them.'_

'I guess what we are really trying to say,' Cassie continued, 'is that we are with you.'

It was all James had been longing to hear, those four words, from these two girls. Everybody else's commitment meant nothing, if he hadn't been able to reconnect with these two. Both were smiling back at him now, Holly unreserved and radiant, Cassie resigned and with a long-suffering look in her eyes.

James was all of a sudden enveloped in a crushing hug from Holly, who jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck. He almost buckled under her weight when she lifted her legs clean off the ground and threw them around his waist. Not that he would ever say _that_ out loud, obviously.

'I suppose now that you have set the precedent Holly, that I, too, must hug him,' Cassie grumbled

'Oh yes darling, we all do as we must,' Holly replied in a gross mockery of Cassie's haughty accent.

James smiled, and was about to laugh again until he got slapped with Cassie's infamous glare number three. He hastily forced an expression of grave concern back on his face, and held his arms out, only the _faintest_ hint of a cheeky smile causing his eyes to light up.

Holly was definitely the hugger of the pair, as Cassie stepped into James' embrace a little haltingly, and placed her arms gently around his back. James resisted the urge to pat her on the head, as it barely reached his chin, and contented himself with more of the idiotic smiling that seemed so infectious this morning.

'That was very Gryffindor of you,' Cassie remarked as she pulled away, 'making a speech like that, no wands, in front of Preston Lynch and his two thugs. They could have Jinxed you at any second, and then you would have looked a right fool. Again.'

'Thanks,' James said with a shrug. That was exactly the kind of thing he had been trying _not_ to think about the entire time he had been up there.

'I didn't mean it as a compliment,' Cassie said, rolling her eyes, 'I swear that's a joke that every other house is in on except you lot.'

'Huh?' James asked, back to his witty ways.

'Oh never you mind,' giggled Holly, as she grabbed him by one arm and began leading him to the Great Hall. 'Come on, I'm starving. _Some of us_ have been flat-out all morning!'

'You do realise, James Potter, that this means that you will be helping me study for Transfiguration for the remainder of the school term, yes? Exams are approaching, and I _will not_ fail a class in my first year.'

James nodded his acquiescence, with a pang of guilt. He still felt somewhat responsible for both of their misfortunes.

'And seeing as I now have zero friends in my own house, you are stuck with me indefinitely,' Holly chimed in.

That one stung even worse than Cassie's studying. James couldn't imagine what Hogwarts would be like without his friends with him. He nodded enthusiastically at them both, every intention of fulfilling those promises.

They found their friends huddled together in a tight group near the far end of the Gryffindor table. James caught Professor Longbottom's eye as he entered. He saw him take in Holly on his arm, and Cassie walking happily alongside. The professor winked at James, who smiled back, before settling down onto the bench seats.

'You three look like your Niffler has just found a treasure pile in your backyard,' Cat commented with a dreamy smile.

'James and Holly looked like they were walking down the aisle to get married,' laughed Clip, 'both of you had big silly grins on your faces, Cassie could have been the Father.'

James and Holly shared a horrified glance, and inched away from each other slightly. Now _there_ was a terrifying prospect indeed.

'Oh how I have missed that sense of humour,' Cassie drawled sarcastically.

'You know, Cassie, they say sarcasm is the lowest form of wit…'

James offered her the services of his face-sucker, but much to Clip's relief, she turned it down in favour of the High Road on this occasion.

James set about making up for lost time in regards to his lunch, and hungrily piled his plate with all manner of fare. He grabbed a Butterbeer, as he felt like celebrating, and offered a toast to the group.

As lunch was winding down, Cassie grabbed everyone's attention with an article that she was reading in the _Daily Prophet._

'Hey, guys check this out. It's about the attacks… Huh, that's odd.'

'Show us,' urged Fred, 'you can't just say "that's odd" and then not tell us _what_ it is!'

With a wave of her wand she cleared a space in the centre of the table and laid the paper out for all to read. James leant in to get a good look. The title alone was enough to pique his interest well and truly.

 _HIT AND RUN: WHAT WE KNOW SO FAR ON THE SACRED SITE SACRILEGE_

 _News in the wizarding community has recently been taken over by a spate of unlawful, unsavoury and downright anti-Magical attacks on some of our most treasured artefacts and locations. Aurors have been working tirelessly around the clock to try and track down this Dastardly Desecrator, but efforts thus far have been found wanting._

 _Several months ago, during the peak of summer, the final resting place of the great Nicholas Flamel, famed Alchemist and inventor of the Philosopher's Stone, and his wife Perenelle, was broken into and trashed. The damage was absolute, down to the destruction of the Mirror of Erised, which had been moved there early in 1992, following an altercation at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, rumoured to have centred on the Mirror and the Stone both._

 _The attacker struck once again in the middle of winter, showing just how cold their heart really is. They destroyed the site at Stonehenge, a location linked with strong magical presence for the past 5000 years, and one of the Prophet-voted Top 5 Magical Pilgrimages in all of Britain._

 _So far the team of Aurors, led by the famous Harry Potter himself, have turned up nothing more than Scotch mist. Conflicting reports are drifting out of the Auror head office, with suggestions that it is the mastery of mind-based magic, which is giving the attacker the leading edge._

 _Rumours have been circulating that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is also on the attacker's list, and that they are once again hiding an artefact of great power within their walls. Internal reports from an unconfirmed source have stated that this is not the case, and that the Hogwarts security level has not been raised, contrary to other previous publications._

 _A recent string of disappearances has also been attributed to the attacker, but the Prophet would also like to stress that these are in no way related, and the previous source mentions that they are being investigated by a completely different division._

 _The seeds of fear often find fertile soil in the wizarding community, particularly given such a bloody and turbulent past. We here at the Prophet, as well as our Sponsors at the Ministry urge the wizarding public to remain calm, and not to panic about the situation. We do not in any way believe that this is a Voldemort-style series of attacks, and as soon as we garner some competence from our Aurors we will have the issue resolved immediately._

James stared blankly at the last two paragraphs for a long moment, utterly confused.

'What a waste of an article,' Clip said, frowning, 'they tell us nothing we didn't know already, then blatantly lie, then try and tell us these attacks aren't linked to some random disappearances. Which is now _exactly_ what everyone is going to think!'

Cassie was shaking her head, a small frown on her face. Cat rummaged in her bag, looking for something.

'I think _I_ know what it's all about,' she offered, 'here. It's a copy of the latest _Quibbler._ Mother has started it up again, ever since we moved back here. She's been getting a lot of attention, too. There are some good articles in this week. The one about Snorkack-catching Restrictions is great… There's something about a disappearance in there, too. I thought everybody knew who was behind it all. Don't you?'

All six of the first-years were staring, open-mouthed and incredulous, at Cat.

'Well read it then! Honestly, I thought you guys had more sense.' She huffed, and flattened out the _Quibbler_ on top of the _Prophet._

James found the article and began to read, trying hard _not_ to notice the adjacent columns on the best time of year to catch a Plimpie, or how to milk a Mooncalf. He thought Cassie might be in danger of losing her eyebrows to her hairline as she studied the page in shocked contempt.

 _Disappearances Fall at the Feet of Chief Advisor_

 _In another act of blatant misinformation by an unnamed rival editorial, and our own Ministry of Magic, a second disappearance has been discovered by our hardworking journalists here at the_ Quibbler. _This has been swept under the rug by the Auror Office, and not reported to the public, despite rising concerns surrounding attacks on sacred magical sites, and the implementation of dragons as guards around the Hogwarts perimeter._

 _Naturally, this is an issue of great concern to all the wizarding public, and the_ Quibbler _has worked around the clock to uncover the facts of the case, which lead directly to the door of one Miss Galatea Renshaw, recently-appointed Senior Advisor to the Minister for Magic._

 _Who? We hear you ask. Miss Galatea Renshaw is a graduate of our own Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the year 1985, promptly leaving our shores for the relative safety of the United States, where she worked in No-Maj (Muggle) Relations for several years. She rose in power within the American Ministry at a highly suspicious rate, and spent five years in a spate of Senior Advisory and Head of Department Roles, before returning to Britain last summer. Suspicious timing, you say. We at the_ Quibbler _hear you, and you are not alone!_

 _Her involvement in the attacks is further implied through an interview with one Barnabas Letherby, from Larkhill, a small village nearby Stonehenge. He is quoted as saying the following: "She come through 'ere a few days afore the attack, looking for a Jacko Alberton, I think. He ain't been seen 'round these parts in months. Then later that week, bang! Bloody Stonehenge is gone, and someone tells me Jacko done got himself snatched (sic)"_

 _Note that the "Jacko Alberton" referred to, is in fact one Jaakko Albrektson, renowned Finnish Arithmancer, and one of the elite group of secret cultists known only as the Hundred._

 _We urge your vigilance, dear readers, at times such as these, and warn anyone of further interaction with Galatea Renshaw, unless surrounded by a team of Aurors._

 _Stay safe out there, and keep an eye out for our new series starting next week: "Galatea the Guillotine: An insight into a life of evil."_

James looked up at his friends, all of whom were now shooting very unsure glances is Cat's direction.

'Well, uh… It's certainly a different angle on it,' Clip began. Very diplomatic, James silently commended him.

'That seems like a dangerous game, pointing the finger at a Senior Ministry Advisor, Kattala,' Cassie offered, 'it doesn't seem like a particularly… _extensively researched_ article to me.'

'Well, you don't have to _believe_ it,' Cat replied, uncharacteristically snappish, 'Mother just reports the facts, as she sees them. It's up to you if you want to listen, or just repeat the mind-numbing nonsense that they put in the _Prophet_ every day.'

'The evidence just seems a little… anecdotal, don't you think?'

'I'm sure I don't know what you mean,' Cat replied haughtily.

Cassie rubbed at her temples, and gestured to the newspapers on the table.

'How's this for an example then. Say I wanted to see a Snorkack, and I spent all afternoon doing a Snorkack-Summoning dance, and then the next day I happened to come across one while out for my morning stroll. You can't just say that your Snorkack-dance summoned it there, it was _most likely_ just pure chance. You see?'

Cat stood up abruptly, snatching up the _Quibbler_ and stuffing it angrily back into her bag.

'Everyone knows that there's _no such thing_ as a Snorkack-Dance, you stinking pile of Plimpie droppings!'

With that she stormed off angrily, pushing her way out of the Hall and up the Grand Staircase.

'In retrospect,' Clip said, fighting a small smirk, 'that was a _terrible_ way to try and explain.'

Cassie just huffed and put her head in her hands.

James felt like joining her. What did two completely different reports in the papers mean for what was going on in the outside world? On the one hand, they were being lied to about Hogwarts increasing the security and being a possible target, they had been told that by the Headmistress, but on the other… Well he wasn't sure _what_ to believe when it came to the _Quibbler._

In the end he decided that surviving the next F.A.R.T club, and studying for the end-of-year exams were a much more worthy use of his time than fretting about adult-world problems, and so he shoved the issue out of his mind, for now at least.

The storm that had been threatening to bury the entire castle in drifts of snow eventually blew itself out later that week. The cold weather tried its hardest to linger, but February saw the worst of it off, and the beginning of March began to offer the hints of some sort of reprieve. Students were seen outdoors with greater frequency, and the Quidditch matches were much more enthusiastically-attended.

The latter wasn't altogether a good thing, as far as James was concerned, as Gryffindor played back-to-back games in late February against Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Aster Ogleby, the prodigy Ravenclaw Keeper, almost posted a shut-out as Gryffindor managed to score only a single goal on the way to a two hundred points to ten defeat. The rematch against Slytherin was a highly-speculated affair, with Slytherin as the hot favourites. Lender and RUSTLES kiosks were set up outside the gate to the pitch, and the Galleons flowed.

The terrible triplets, as James called them, were still playing, but were coming under a lot of fire after their previous one-goal effort. James had to, grudgingly, give them credit this time around, though. They flew passably well, and Gryffindor were still in the game at one hundred and twenty against two hundred and ten. That was up until Odette Mansfield snatched the Snitch almost from Diana's hands, as both Seekers rocketed in from opposite directions. The crowd exploded, and so did Gryffindor's hopes of the Quidditch Cup. At three wins and four losses, against Slytherin's five-and two, they were going to need a colossal amount of help to pull this one out of the bag.

The team was scheduled for a month off after those two close-spaced games, and James hoped that they could pull it together for another win in the last game before the Hydra returned for the final match of the season. If they won both, and Slytherin lost twice… Far too many "ifs" for James' liking.

The way practice was shaping up though, it wasn't looking like even a remote possibility. With the entire team snappish and rude to each other, James was fast beginning to feel like he was wasting his time at these sessions, and he'd be better off training by himself. The first years were getting more and more abandoned, without Ryan's strict training schedule to adhere to, to the point where one practice all that James and Fred achieved was fetching the rogue Quaffles from missed shots at goal.

Quidditch at Hogwarts, it appeared, was not quite all it was cracked up to be.

It was following yet another of these dissatisfying practices in early March, which had been memorable only in that James couldn't recall the last time it had rained so hard, that James found himself walking up to the castle alone in the fading light. Fred had called in sick, after 'accidentally' eating a Puking Pastille. Diana had dismissed him as soon as she saw his sickly pallor, and he had probably been relaxing, high and dry in front of the fireplace ever since.

The sun, hidden behind a steely curtain of slate-grey cloud, was sinking below the horizon, and the rain was cutting his visibility down to barely a dozen yards in any direction. He walked slowly, his boots sticking in the cloying mud, contemplating just how committed he really was to this damnable sport, when he heard a pair of familiar voices coming from nearby.

'Please, Vicky, no. I'm supposed to be on duty right now. I'm on perimeter patrol, I can't talk to you right now.'

 _Vicky?_

That was Teddy's voice, James was sure he didn't know anyone called Vicky. Right up until the second voice spoke, and his mouth dropped open. Firstly, that was a disgusting pet name, and secondly, how in Merlin's name did he keep ending up eavesdropping on these conversations?

'You know we are right together, Teddy. You _know_ what we had was special. Is it the same with _her?_ ' Victoire Weasley, James' cousin, was tucked away with Teddy under the eaves of a storage shed. James could just make out their two figures, standing incredibly close, in the dying evening light.

He tried to turn and carry on, to make his way up to the castle, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Some voyeuristic part of him held him there, eager to see how it would play out.

'It's– it's none of your business any more Vicky. Zoe and I are _happy._ I don't have to worry about her going out and hooking up with other blokes behind my back. I'm not going through this again, I _can't_ do this again… I'm sorry Vicky.'

James watched as she raised a hand to cup his face, pulling their bodies incrementally closer. He held his breath. Should he stop Teddy? Professor Meadows would no doubt be less than pleased to see this exchange going on, but what if _this_ was what Teddy _really_ wanted, to be with Victoire. They had been together for so long, it seemed, that James still had trouble thinking of him as dating his professor. Thankfully they had been keeping it a secret, at least, so he wasn't reminded of it every day.

'You know she's always had a crush on you Teddy. Ever since you were both still at school. I saw it, the way she looked at you when we were together. When you both left to Auror training together I was so afraid that she was going to steal you from me. She knows you are hurting Teddy, she knows you are vulnerable, ever since…'

She trailed off there, unable or unwilling to continue with that thread of conversation.

The rain continued to pelt down, soaking James through completely. He began shivering slightly, but was too caught up in the scenes before him to pay his comfort any heed.

'She is _using_ you Teddy, can't you see that? She knows that this is the only way she could get to you, if you were still broken. It's _me_ that you ought to be with. You wouldn't have to hide that. You never have to hide from _us_ Teddy.'

She trailed off again, and James watched, unable to tear his eyes away, despite the perverse nature of his current circumstances. He could make out their shapes, barely, as they leant in together and their faces met. Silence reigned for several seconds, in which James' mind seemed to have frozen, unable to comprehend what it was he was seeing. Eventually, after what seemed to James like several long minutes, Teddy broke it off.

'No Vicky, you can't be doing this to me. I won't let you do this to me. I need to move on, not be stuck in this little game of yours, trying to win me back or whatever it is. I'm not some prize to a competition. This is my _happiness_ you are messing with. I need- I need to be alone, and time to think. I need to be away from _you.'_

Even from what little James could see, he could tell from her body language that Victoire was defeated. Her shoulders sagged, her knees buckled and her head fell to her chest. She leant in and whispered one last thing to Teddy, too quiet for James to hear, before spinning and dashing out into the rain.

Right towards James.

Desperate to _not_ be caught in the same situation twice, James turned and fled, his footfalls covered by the sound of the torrential rain, his passage helped along by the dying of the light. He ran nearly twenty yards directly away from Teddy and _Vicky's_ rendezvous spot before he slipped on the wet ground, tumbling head-over-heels and falling flat on his face into a large muddy puddle.

He sat there for a while, listening out to see if he had been spotted. Eventually, he decided it was time to head back to the castle, and he gathered his broom from where it had flown out of his hands, and made his was slowly back through the downpour, contemplating why exactly it was that he always managed to find himself in the middle of these uncomfortable situations.


	20. Chapter 20

March was a cold month in the castle, but mere cold was a welcome respite from the extreme, icy, bitter memories that any mention of January and February engendered. Snows gave way to rains, which turned the grounds to a sodden, oozing mud. It stuck to shoes, boots, hems of robes, yet seemed suspiciously willing to shake free once within the confines of the castle. A turf war – literally – was waged between the faculty and the students, and the penalty for tramping mud indoors quickly escalated from a loss of five house points, to a loss of twenty and an evening spent scrubbing the great flagstones with naught but a toothbrush. James was painfully aware that that was the penalty, because he had been handed it twice.

For James the much-needed wake-up call with regards to cleanliness came on a blessedly dry Tuesday morning in early March, when, after a gruelling, muddy, sloppy Quidditch practice the night before, he had hurled his filthy robes into his trunk, alongside all of his others. Much to the entire Gryffindor first year's alarm, they proceeded to have a rather nasty reaction with the robes that he had been wearing for Herbology the previous day, and come morning he had a veritable swarm of what looked like baby Devil's Snare plants writhing and roiling in a turbulent, verdant sea within his trunk. He lost three good Quidditch figurines to their clutches before he was able to call Professor Longbottom up to help.

Curiously, he received an O in all his Herbology assignments for the remainder of that week.

There was a sense of anticipation building within the castle, alongside a strong feeling of building tension. The now-infamous Quibbler article condemning Galatea Renshaw, and the accompanying mini-series detailing every minute detail of her life with an alarmingly dark spin, was the hottest topic around. Students were discussing the contents of the article over breakfast, lunch and dinner, Rosalie Gardner even lost five points for Gryffindor for loudly speculating in the middle of class why the Ministry hadn't simply arrested her yet.

The _Prophet,_ in stark contrast, was printing almost a new article each day on the subject of the hunt for the 'Desecrator' as they were now calling the mysterious figure. Reports of skirmishes with Aurors, shady meetings and deals cut in back-alleys, and even a column on a supposed Nundu-sighting, which wouldn't have been out of place in the _Quibbler,_ were all painting a picture of an attacker on the run, being pursued by a crack team of Aurors. The way the _Prophet_ described it, it seemed like they would have the witch or wizard in custody any day now.

Meanwhile, Galatea Renshaw continued to advise the Minister for Magic, seemingly completely unfazed by all the bad press surrounding her name.

Everyone around the school seemed to be walking the corridors expecting something, _anything_ to spontaneously erupt at any given second. Rising pressure from the approaching exams, the tightening up of the race for the Quidditch Cup (Ravenclaw won two matches back-to-back, and now tied Slytherin for the lead), and most importantly for James, the rapid approaching of the fourth instalment of F.A.R.T club.

Since the third meeting, in which the Lenders had, if one believed what one heard on the grapevine, reported record takings following James and Fred's suspension, they had been suspiciously quiet. No duels, not even any students shipped to the Hospital Wing with suspicious injuries, and thankfully, no poor souls to be found hanging lifelessly from the boughs of a low-hanging tree.

All in all, it was enough to send any sane group of people mad. Not that James thought for a second that anyone within the castle walls was completely sane to start with, of course.

James was currently speculating all of this while sat on an upturned bucket inside a dingy broom closet, surrounded by three friends, in the pitch darkness, well and truly proving the veracity of that assumption.

The four members of James' F.A.R.T team had each received a note separately to meet at this location, a tiny forgotten broom closet in the western wing of the third floor. It opened off one of the Legendary Seven rooms. The seven rooms utilised in his fathers' first year of Hogwarts to guard the even more legendary Philosopher's Stone. Following the debacle, this wing of the third floor had been cordoned off, and never recommissioned for use. Nowadays it served as little more than a haunt for those dabbling in the less-than-desirable arts, and lovers engaging in secret trysts.

They were currently off the room, if James' memory served him correctly, in which his father, along with Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, had caught a flying key on the back of what Ron described as "the single worst broomsticks ever to have the misfortune of being shat out by some stubborn old tree which really hadn't wanted to be cut down".

'So what do you think they want to see us for?' Holly eventually asked the darkness.

James just shrugged, but quickly realised that was of little help given their current circumstances.

'Not sure, but probably not to sit us down and say how proud of us they are. We're a long shot to win it now, we basically _have_ to win this last round. I don't think we are going to be their favourite people right now.'

Silence greeted his reply. He assumed that his friends were all nodding.

Before much longer the door to their broom closet flew open, and four looming figures presented themselves, silhouetted against the sputtering torchlight in the room behind. The two bodyguards, Left and Right, as James had dubbed them, took up position either side of the door, Wren and Nero stepped inside, adding to the already-cramped space.

'Did nobody think of making a light?' Wren asked, her tone dripping derision.

'Er…' James replied, 'we sort of thought it was a secret, so we didn't want to attract any attention.'

He could just _hear_ the roll of her eyes as a small globe of soft, blue light flickered to life above them. James raised his eyebrows, and he saw an equally impressed look on Cassie's face. That was an understated, yet highly advanced display of wandless magic, especially from a sixth-year.

'We don't have a lot of time before our absence is noticed, so we'll get straight to business,' Wren snapped, 'you nearly sunk us with that little stunt you pulled before the last Hunt, Potter. I almost sent one of the boys to have a little… chat with you. That was up until you went and smashed that feel-good, everybody loves everybody nonsense afterwards. That alone might just have saved us all.

'The first-years, more than any other class, operate mostly as a hive mind. Very few have the inclination, the means, or the desire to stand up and act differently from what they foresee is expected of them by their peers, or by us, the older students. Call it fear, call it stupidity, call it whatever you will, but every first year that we have seen come through here is the same. Figures, identities will eventually rise, factions will be carved out among you, but not for some time yet.

'Historically, deviation from the norm has resulted in ridicule at best, degradation and ostracising at worst. But not for you. Whatever it was about you and Weasley, you managed to convince them. A _lot_ of them, more than I would have thought possible. It only took you most of the school year, but you finally achieved what we asked of you, in uniting the students. We just have to make sure that the focus of their ire is the Lenders.'

'You might be interested to note,' Nero stepped in, little more than a pair of glinting eyes greeting them from within his shadowy hood, 'that there remain two core factions of first-year students largely opposed to this unity movement. One, as I am sure you could guess, is centred around Preston Lynch. This group is angry, aggressive and growing in number by scare tactics and bullying. Expect overt trouble from them come the Hunt. We are currently taking measures to ensure that their numbers don't grow past a critical point, whereby dissension and anarchy reigns once more.

'The second group is far less dangerous, but far more interesting. The second group centres around that drugged-up Ravenclaw sneak with the stupid name. It centres on Rain.'

James heard Cassie gasp, and his own mouth was wide open. _Rain?_ He thought back, and realised that she hadn't come to join him following his speech on the staircase. He hadn't seen her for the rest of that day, and she had been present less and less often when the group studied or ate together.

'I thought you might like that. Might pay to open your eyes once in a while, and you would pick up on this stuff yourselves. Her group is small, but there are some important names there. Not in the least both Greengrass twins, as well as Mulciber and the Macnair kid. Almost exclusively from Ravenclaw and Slytherin, her group. Ostensibly they are harmless; they sit around and discuss school politics, of all things. Planning their own little oligarchy, perhaps. For now though, they are of no import, and I suggest you put it out of your minds.'

James looked over at Holly, she had been looking like somebody was force-feeding her Cockroach Clusters ever since the mention of the Greengrasses. He was kicking himself for missing that development.

'As I was saying,' Wren continued. Her narrow face was a mask of haughty regard, those exotic almond eyes fixated intently on James. He could hold that gaze only for a second before the intensity of it forced him to look away. 'You _almost_ ruined us Potter, but we pulled through, and are now in a position better than we had hoped for, this time six weeks ago. We have a plan that we will enact come the day of the Hunt which ought to see the Lenders take a severe hit to both their finances and their personnel levels.

'But don't you worry about that,' Wren spoke with a note of finality in her voice, 'needless to say we have not been inactive these past months, and we are long overdue to harvest the fruits of our labour. You do your part, win that final Hunt. Win the whole thing, and you will have a share in our wealth. More importantly, though, you will have our gratitude. _That_ is invaluable.'

James swallowed, hard, but didn't speak. He looked around at his fellow first-years. Each of them wore a look which must have been a mirror of his own; a mix of nervousness, trepidation and uncertainty. These seventh years were asking an awful lot of them. He hated to think what would happen if they failed to win the final F.A.R.T club.

In a way, R.U.S.T was no better than the Lenders, James thought. Sure, they hid behind a benign façade, and made a show of protecting the first years, when it was convenient. But at the heart they were driven by the same principles, they were after the same thing as the Lenders. Galleons.

The way James saw it though, they had had little choice in the matter, from the very outset. Their combined destinies had been etched in stone the day those seventh years chose which teams they would sponsor. It was a terrible feeling, being unable to act for fear of retribution, being unable to enjoy this task, this love child of Dominique's which had been made with the best of intentions but was now being bastardised, twisted into something grotesque by greedy, narcissistic older students, and James and his friends were, once again, caught well and truly in the centre of it. R.U.S.T against the Lenders, a beggar's choice, really.

Better the Devil you know.

It was Nero's turn to speak again, in their weird little back-and-forth narrative game. He leaned forward from where he had been positioned up against the wall, and James saw the flash of brilliant white teeth to match those twin glinting orbs that were his eyes.

'With a little help from an associate,' here he paused to nod at Left, outside. Or was it Right, James couldn't remember. He supposed it made little difference really, in the scheme of things. 'We have been able to secure a rough outline of what the fourth and final task of F.A.R.T club entails. Hold on to your wands kiddies, because they have stepped this up a notch. You're going to have yourselves a busy week of practicing ahead of you, I guarantee it.'

As Nero and Wren together described the upcoming task to the first years James felt his eyes widening, his brows climbing and his jaw dropping, all together. This was unlike anything that they had done before, it was a step above anything that F.A.R.T club had asked of them in the past. He supposed that he should have figured that something like this was on the cards; each time they had met the intensity had risen, not just in the fervour of the participants, but in the complexity of the tasks that were asked of them. Dominique was unwittingly raising one of the most talented first-year classes that Hogwarts had ever seen, driven by the relentless pursuit of victory and the fiery competitiveness stirred up in the young students by their financially-involved older counterparts.

Once they had finished talking, and the first-years had ask sufficient questions, Nero pulled a folded piece of parchment from his breast pocket, handing it to James.

'In here is a list of spells you will need. You know what to do, and should have decided by tonight who needs to learn which spells. Practice them, to the exclusion of all else, and come the Hunt you will have a tremendous advantage. Keep your meetings as secret as you can; use this area of the castle when possible. There are very few eyes and ears around here. The protective spells layered on back in Dumbledore's day haven't completely worn out, there are some strong residual effects still lingering which should keep out the majority of the snoopers.

'We will contact you, as per usual, the day before or the morning of the Hunt. We have been working on some additions to the Map to make it more useful for the final Hunt. Additionally we will outline to you the expected movements of the Lenders, as we are certain that they will take action for this final task. At this stage we know not what that action will be, but rest assured that very little stays secret for long when Shade and the Enchantress put their heads together. Until then.'

The first-years didn't need to be told twice, and they all four scurried eagerly out of the dingy broom cupboard into the open air of the high-ceilinged room outside. They didn't even look back, and didn't stop walking until there was a good amount of castle between them and their meeting place.

'Let me see that list,' Cassie asked, as they filed into an empty classroom down a side corridor. James made sure to _triple_ -check that nobody could see them, before shoving them all in ahead of him. He unfolded the list and flattened it out on the table. Immediately the three others crowded around, poring over its contents.

'Blimey,' Tristan let out a long, low whistle, 'I know fewer of these than my father does ways to please a woman, according to mother. They sound difficult.'

James was inclined to agree; he hadn't heard of _any_ of the spells written out before them in a neat, spidery handwriting. They came complete with details of wand movement, enunciation, and desired effects. He could tell what they were to be used for, based on Nero's description of the Hunt, but theory was one thing, execution was another entirely.

'I highly doubt that they would have handed us spells that were beyond our capabilities,' Cassie snapped in reply, 'let me try one.'

She snatched up the paper, peering intently at the writing. Her lips moved soundlessly for a while, her brow furrowed. She practiced the wand movements for a good five minutes before folding the parchment away in her own breast pocket.

James took a step backwards, and the other two followed suit. Cassie shot him an irritated look but he just shrugged in response. He had been on the receiving end of incorrect spellwork at the beginning of the year, and it had been a very… flamey experience.

' _Ventus!'_ cried Cassie, twirling her wand in an intricate pattern.

James felt a gentle breeze stir the hem of his robes, and tug at a few loose strands of hair, but that was about it.

'Not bad,' offered Tristan, 'though I do think I could produce an equally stiff breeze by a more natural means following a stout meal of beans.'

Cassie wasn't really the athletic type, but she moved _mighty_ fast when she reached in and slapped Tristan across the head.

'I've proved that it's possible,' she huffed, 'these spells shouldn't be too difficult to master. Even for you, Tristan. I suggest we schedule regular meetings, and practice every available opportunity between now and the Hunt. There was another door that opened off the room where we met R.U.S.T today, from memory it is a small, unused classroom, and we could use that.'

'Look at you, getting all competitive,' James shot with a sly smile.

'When it comes to learning magic, James Potter, I do _not_ do things by half.'

The group had a laugh at that statement, before splitting up for the evening, heading back to their dormitories. James noticed Holly lingering in the room after the others left, and he shot her a questioning glance as he began to head to the door.

'James,' she called, uncertainly. He paused, and turned to face her. She was sucking on her hair again, something she did particularly when she was nervous, and fiddling with the buttons on her robe. Those startling, pale grey eyes were darting about the room uncertainly, afraid to settle in one place for too long.

'What is it?' He asked, walking over to her and sitting down atop an unused desk.

Eventually, after what looked to be a heated internal debate, she looked up and locked gazes with James. He saw indecision slowly being trampled by resolution in their misty depths. She hopped up on the table next to him, forcing him to scoot along to accommodate. She was pressed up close to him, her shoulders huddled slightly forwards in an almost defensive posture; one she had adopted far more frequently since the Lenders attacked her in the Slytherin common room.

'Have- have you given any more thought to what I said, about… about stealing the Map? I think we could do it, after this F.A.R.T club. I know where Wren hides it, but that shouldn't even matter. I know a way we can keep it, and nobody will know except for the two of us. I have a plan James.'

Alarm bells were immediately going off in James' head. He had just spent a good portion of his year estranged from his close friends for keeping secrets such as this, and now one of those very friends was offering to conspire together to the very thing that caused the rift in the first place!

Did she not see how wrong that was? Could she not see the… the irony?

 _But it's the Map though._

A second voice spoke, cutting through James' internal debate on the morality of his current situation. This voice spoke confidently and clearly, it had no need for indecision. It knew that James wanted to acquire the Map, it needed nothing more than to play to that desire.

And oh, how James wanted that Map. Just like the one made by his Grandfather, used by his Father in the fight against Voldemort. By all accounts this Map was even better, with the ability to show the user certain paths through the castle. A thought suddenly occurred to James. Would it work on the Heart? Would he be able to use the Map to find the Heart again, without even worrying about trying to steal an Anchor from Professor Meadows?

An excited, elated felling was rapidly swelling in his chest. The possibilities that the Map offered were nigh on endless. He would be a master of the castle, his only rival would be Nero. He could find the Heart again, and find out how to link the Map, so that he could put all the students of Hogwarts on it, he could track everyone at every second of the day.

He could _use the Heart_ to watch his own Grandfather and friends do it the first time.

Before he could find the words to agree, he was nodding madly, and a wide grin split Holly's face. She brushed up against him where they sat on the desk together and giggled, still sucking on the end of a long dark lock of hair, broken free from her customary loose braid.

'Well I think it should be easy. You will have to do it, judging from what Wren said about the next Hunt. This is what I think we should do…'

As James listened to her, he couldn't stop the small part of him that said this was mad, _they_ were mad, to even think about doing something like this. It wasn't Holly's plan, that in and of itself was sound, it was the most sane part of this entire ordeal. No, mad was the thought of two first-years taking on possibly the wiliest, most cunning, most deceitful Slytherins to walk the halls of Hogwarts in twenty years.

Mad was thinking that they would win.

By the time the pair had finished working out some of the finer details the sun had slunk down behind the horizon, and the last few rays of dusty golden light were slanting in through the windows, illuminating the room in hues of sepia and gold. Holly stood and hugged James before she left, lingering on the embrace for a while, before turning and dashing from the room.

James slowly traipsed the familiar route to the Gryffindor common room, staring at his shoes as he went. Carpet gave way to flagstone gave way to stairs, and the pattern repeated, all the way until his feet carried him to the portrait of the Fat Lady, seemingly of their own accord.

His mind hadn't stopped whirring the entire time.

The two weeks leading up to the final F.A.R.T meeting was just as busy as James had anticipated. He saw barely any of his friends who weren't a part of his F.A.R.T team, outside of class times. The four made trips to the Legendary wing on the third floor a regular occurrence, barricading themselves in their classroom and practicing the spells over and over, until they were happy with the results.

Well, until everyone except Cassie was happy with the results.

'James that is _not_ good enough! You have to _slash_ with your wand, all you're doing is a sort of floppy wave! It's hardly working at all.'

'It is too!' James snapped, 'I barely felt a thing then.'

It was late on a Friday evening, the day before the final F.A.R.T club. Tensions were high and patience was short. James and Cassie had just shared a double Potions class period which had been gruelling in itself. Not helped by the fact that Fred had been throwing scarab beetles at James for the majority of the lesson, one of which had landed square in Cassie's potion, causing it to bubble over violently and emit a series of disgusting smelling gas expulsions, forcing the class to evacuate to a half hour before Professor Ellfrick could clear the smog away.

Somehow, that had been _mostly_ James' fault. Again.

They had cleared the desks to the side of the classroom, leaving a broad, open space in the centre. The curtains of the room were thrown back, letting splashes of brilliant moonlight illuminate the room in tandem with several torches that Cassie had lit with silver fire and placed around the room. The result was an eerie, flickering night time atmosphere, and the silver light was starting to strain James' eyes, only adding to the growing frustrations in the room.

Cassie lined up against him at opposite ends of the cleared space. Tristan was in the farthest corner, practicing the ' _Aguamenti'_ spell over and over, to the point where he was now able to produce a firehose-like stream of water from the end of his wand. Holly was in the corner behind James, cutting the legs off the poor tables, then repairing them over and over again. As James turned to watch her, she let off another ' _Diffindo!'_ and tore straight through the centre of the teachers' table. His eyes widened. He needed to make sure never to get on her bad side again.

'Ready,' called James, his feet set.

Cassie nodded. She began the wand movements, an intricate set of swishes, rolls and waggles that James had trouble following from this distance.

' _Ventus!'_ she cried, with gusto.

James barely had time to prepare himself, as a great wall of wind whipped up from behind Cassie and hurtled across the classroom towards him. Scraps of paper, motes of dust and even a spare sock from somewhere were all picked up in the maelstrom, rushing towards James at a frightening pace.

He set his jaw, squared his shoulders, and raised his wand for the umpteenth time that evening.

' _Imminuum!'_ he cried, slashing his wand diagonally downward before him, just as the wave of air was about to knock him flat.

He heard a squeal from behind him, and turned to see Holly upside down half buried by a stack of her broken desks, eagerly claiming their revenge. But for himself, he had felt little more than a slight ruffling of his hair.

'Well done!' Cassie screamed with delight 'I think that was the best one yet, from both of us! Shall we call it a night there and head up to bed? We should make sure to get a good night's sleep before tomorrow, ensure we are well rested.'

James nodded in agreement, pocketing his wand. He was quietly very happy with himself for that effort, he had been unable to stop the majority of Cassie's blasts all week, as she had been steadily improving at a rate slightly faster than himself. He just hoped he would be able to manage it come tomorrow, as it would likely mean the difference between a first place and a fifth, and they couldn't afford that.

James, Cassie and Tristan headed towards the door, eagerly swapping stories on their progress, and speculation on how tomorrow was going to play out. They got almost all the way out before a voice coming from beneath a pile of furniture called them back.

'Uh… guys? A little help here?'

It had been a _long_ day.

And it wasn't over yet.

The group split up, and James took several secret passages to shorten his journey up towards Gryffindor Tower. On his way he saw more than a few teachers, running through the corridors, and the closer he got to the seventh floor, the more Aurors he saw amongst them.

He checked his watch, he was still five minutes inside of curfew time, what was the commotion? He didn't _really_ want to get caught out of bed; everyone was still very on edge about the whole Desecrator thing, and Fred had copped an absolute earful from Professor Plye for being caught a minute after bed time just this week.

James crouched behind a tapestry, up the corridor slightly from the Fat Lady portrait, he watched several teachers and two older Aurors whom he didn't recognise march past. In the brief gap that followed, he made his dash for it, sprinting up to the portrait and offering the password in frantic, hushed tones.

'Semper,' he hissed.

'You had better get inside lovvie,' the Fat Lady spoke in grave tones, 'it's not safe to be out tonight.'

James paused to ask her what exactly was going on, but the portal swung open and he hardly had time to think before a hand reached forth from the dim light and grabbed him by the robes, dragging him bodily into the common room.

'Where in Merlin's name have you been, James?' Professor Longbottom deposited James on a nearby couch, and stood over him. His wand was out, his sleeves were rolled up and there was a thin film of sweat coating his face.

'Er… practicing spells,' James stammered, 'for F.A.R.T club tomorrow, with my team.'

'There are others out there?' Neville snapped, his eyes bulging in shock, 'where are they, tell me where you last saw them and where they were headed.'

James stuttered and stammered his way through the information, his own panic beginning to rise now. What was going on that had everyone so on edge? As he looked around the room he saw what must be the entirety of his house crammed in, mostly fixing their avid gazes on him. A few subdued conversations were taking place here and there, adding a human undertone to the crackling of the fireplace, but all in all it was a gloomy atmosphere.

'What's happening professor? Are they going to be safe?' James thought briefly about heading back out there himself, but he had no idea what he was running into, and Professor Longbottom seemed less than likely to let him charge off into whatever danger it was.

Neville ignored him, as he summoned his rampant lion Patronus. The great silver-maned beast stood easily as tall as James. The entire common room stopped what they were doing at that moment to stare, unabashedly at such a beautiful and powerful display of magic.

Without a further word, the beast roared off through the portrait, down into the castle below.

'There's been an attack,' Professor Longbottom finally replied to James, tersely, 'someone has Hexed the Auror on guard at the eighth floor, and tried to break in. They were stopped by spells put in place over the entranceway to further protect against any intruders. Teddy did that work himself, an excellent job. Whoever it was, though, was able to escape.

'The castle is in lockdown at the moment, all the students are in their common rooms accompanied by their Heads of House. We will receive the all clear once the castle has been swept and the Aurors have either captured the impostor, or determined whether he or she has fled.

'Until then, make yourself comfortable, or head to bed if you think you're able to sleep. We're all in for a long night.'

At that stage sleep wasn't even an option for James; he still had three friends out there, unsure of their fates. If one of them was in the way of a desperate attacker looking to make an escape…

It didn't bear thinking about.

He found a quiet corner with Cat, Clip and Freddy. When he told them the news about how the others were still out there, grim looks crossed their features as well.

He sat down next to Cat, who took his hand in both of hers, placing them in her lap. James leant up against her shoulder and the four sat in silence as the minutes stretched out, with still no return of Professor Longbottom's Patronus.

Eventually the waiting and nervousness began to succumb to the inaction and the lateness of the hour, and the group slowly began to nod off. James dozed, Fred stretched out on the ground and fell asleep instantly. Clip curled up and used Fred's stomach as a pillow. Most impressive was the fact that evidently Freddy didn't even notice.

James wasn't aware of the hour, as time was passing in a hazy, sleepy blur, but at some point Professor Longbottom came over and crouched down next to the group.

'Your friends are all safe, James, and the attacker has fled the castle. Head on up to bed now, try and get some sleep. I know Dominique has a big day planned for you all tomorrow.'

James nodded groggily, and nudged Cat. He poked Fred and Clip with the toe of his shoe and spread the good news. They were all too tired to offer much more than lazy smiles, and together they traipsed up to their beds, the last of the Gryffindors to go.

All around them the castle teemed with activity, Aurors and teachers alike crawling through every nook and cranny, trying to find the chink in the Hogwarts armour, but for these four, tired souls all that burdened their sleepy minds was the promise of a set of warm covers and a soft pillow upon which to rest their heads.


	21. Chapter 21

A muddy track was quickly forming beneath James' feet as he paced back and forth across the moist, springy earth. Seats were available, but he could not sit still. His fists clenched and unclenched as he walked, his wand appeared in his hand, then back into the pocket of his robes, over and over again. He was restless, as were they all. He seemed to be the only one showing it outwardly, the physical manifestation of the entire group's unease, painted clearly in muddy brown before them across the green, wet grass.

The entire school grounds had been transformed for the final instalment of F.A.R.T club, and most of the school had come to watch. Small, rickety stands had sprung up at high points around the place, dotting the tops of hillocks and rises as ungainly wooden growths. Each one was packed to the brim with a score or more of students, many with Omnioculars, currently peering out towards the Black Lake, greedily drinking in the spectacle before them, one that was currently hidden from James, much to his anguish.

His small group of twenty students, one from each team, were gathered with Professor Ellfrick to supervise them, at a far edge of the Forbidden Forest. A small tent had been erected, at the end of a game trail leading out of the forest, a trail which was flanked by two floating golden streamers, outlining the path that the students would be taking up to this point. Great hulking fir and oak trees leaned eagerly outwards, draping dappled shadow across the gathered contestants, the shade causing breath to writhe and curl in the air, drifting away silently on a gentle breeze.

A few wispy clouds were all that marred the azure backdrop above them, scudding across the blank canvas of the sky lazily, mere afterthoughts in the artist's rendition of this perfect day, splashes of silver-limned white against the yawning, gaping blue abyss.

James clapped his hands in the crisp, cold air. He had on a pair of Quidditch gloves, fingerless. They offered some warmth, but he thrust them into his pockets nonetheless, eager to keep them as dextrous as possible, and avoid them seizing up in the chilly March air. He offered the tightest of smiles at Clip as their eyes caught. His friend nodded back, knowingly.

His anxiety was shared, on this of all days.

It was hard for James not to think of what his friends would be doing now, of trying to mentally track their progress through the four-stage challenge that had been laid before them. He knew that they had practised their spells as much as they could, they were as prepared as possible. _More_ prepared than the majority of the other teams; he didn't know how many other R.U.S.T sponsors had eked the secrets of this challenge out of Dominique before today.

It had been well over two hours now, since they would have started. The sun was beginning to climb high enough that their little clearing at the edge of the Forest was being bathed in light now. With it came some heat, some small warmth, but little comfort.

James made sure that his robes were tucked in; he was wearing his Quidditch robes for the occasion. Tight-fitting maroon and gold, a pair of flying goggles currently draped around his neck. He flicked a glance across at the rack which held the twenty school-issue Nimbus Two-thousand-and-ones, long since outdated models by anybody's standards. James hoped that they would be able to hold up to the hell that he would need to put them through today.

A sound came from within the Forest, near the exit path that led up to the tent. His heart jumped to his throat, he spun, staring eagerly, but nobody revealed themselves. A critter of the woods, perhaps. All twenty of the gathered students let out a collective sigh, and James returned to his restless pacing.

James supposed that he had more reason than the others to be nervous this morning. He recalled the note pressed into his palm that very morning at breakfast by a faceless Gryffindor.

 _From the skies: your saviours burn golden as the sun._

Thus.

The Lenders had chosen his leg to stage their attack, to show their hand and force the results of the F.A.R.T club. James well knew that he would be their primary target. He was still in a position to win the whole thing, and for some reason the son of Harry Potter seemed to be the trendiest pick to win, despite the fact that he was eighteen points off the pace. He was sure that the money would have been flowing in with his name scrawled into the parchment, money that the Lenders would have to give back, with interest, should he win.

Simple economics dictated that that was not the outcome they were after, hence their desire to remedy the situation, mitigate their losses. Experts at risk management, were the Lenders.

Thankfully, it appeared that James, at least, would have support. Dressed in golden robes, hidden somewhere in the forest were his team of R.U.S.T sponsors. Probably not Wren and Nero, if he thought about it, but possibly Left and Right, as well as a couple more followers, likely also equipped with brooms, and assuredly armed with a bevy of offensive and defensive spells to ward of the meddling Lender lackeys.

It was the perfect part of the course to stage an intervention, James mused. Hidden from all of the pop-up stadiums, and the view of the castle both, by a valley in the forest. The first-years were charged with following a course of rings set out in the air, flying through each one on a broom, with the first back to the finish line taking out the F.A.R.T honours. That course dove deep into the aforementioned valley, wending about along its craggy hillsides, between towering trees, over rubbly cliff faces. The course itself was going to be difficult enough, but add to it the fact that the entire length of it was enchanted to throw out gale-force winds with the aim of knocking the competitors off-kilter, forcing them to double back, avoid obstacles, and miss hoops altogether, then the prospect was nightmarish.

James estimated that it would take him twenty minutes to complete the course, and for fifteen of those minutes he was open to attack from the Lenders, out of sight of any officials. He had packed his Invisibility Cloak in a small satchel bag strapped tightly to his back, as well as a few other items that may come in handy during an aerial duel.

If he was ever out of sight for more than a few seconds he was going to whip the cloak over his head and cover himself as much as possible while he was flying down in the valley. Anything to give him the advantage and get him out of there ahead of the pack. Taking a shot and falling out of the sky would surely spell doom for any of their chances.

In the distance he heard a crowd somewhere go up in a raucous round of cheers. He checked his watch. Approaching three hours, surely Holly couldn't be far away now.

At the ends of the path James was pacing along he would stop each time, surveying the forest intently, hoping to see a glimmer of movement within its gloomy depths. Preston Lynch was lounging on a chair, displaying no overt signs of nervousness, and sneering at James whenever their eyes locked.

'You're going down,' he mouthed at James.

James chose to ignore him. Not least of all because he was afraid that opening his mouth at this stage might just cause him to vomit up the contents of his stomach. There were only so many times he could check his strappings, his pack and his wand, before it all became detached and mindless, and the nerves took over everything.

Clip was rocking back and forth slowly in his chair, sweat clearly visible as a thin film on his face in the midday sunlight, despite the chilly temperature.

There it was – a noise, undeniably human – coming from within the forest. The sound of shouting, of spells being cast. A feminine voice – Holly?

The entire group rose as one from where they had been milling about, some sitting, and some others pacing like James. Everyone hurried to their designated positions, arrayed in a single line facing the exit from the forest. James was near the end farthest from the broomstick rack. He had been eyeing it surreptitiously throughout the morning, and thought he had spotted the least run-down of them all, third from the left, standing proudly despite its age.

As one the waiting first-years took a breath and held it together, elation and disappointment alike both poised to spring at the revelation. James could see a figure now in the shadows. Heard her cry a final, desperate spell.

' _Incendio!'_

She burst forth in a rush of dark, bottle-green robes and blonde hair – Georgia Braithwaite – the Slytherin girl from Clip's team. James groaned, that was the worst possible outcome. He knew he needed Clip to finish at least fifth for him to have any chance of winning. His sole consolation was that Clip was at the very best an average flier; James was confident at least that he could run him down. Perhaps if Clip entered the valley first, and alone, then the Lenders would cut him down, leaving the path clear for James.

'Go, go, go!' Georgia panted, as she slapped Clip's hand and collapsed in a heap at his feet, sucking in great lungfuls of air.

She rolled over, a wicked, triumphant smile on her face, and looked straight at James.

'We got you, Potter. Rain cleared that lake faster than anyone could've imagined. Had nigh on a gale blowing her across, barely touched the water. Passed Brooks a way back, I did. The plants got to her, she looked properly stuck. Not sure if she'll be making it out.'

With that, she pushed herself up and trudged over to the tent and the waiting Professor Ellfrick, her hand already out for a cup of steaming Pepper-Up Potion and a lie-down on one of the many stretcher-beds that were available.

James was shooting a piercing glare at Georgia's back, second-guessing all of his teams' preparation. Holly wouldn't let herself get caught like that, she had been practicing spells all week to deal with the plants that had been placed along the trail to snare and trap them. James would put money on her being able to cast the best Severing Charm and Fire Charm in the whole of the first year by now.

Would Georgia have tripped her? There had been nothing in today's rules about using spells on the opposition, which meant that it was open season out there. She could have stunned her even, in which case there was no way Holly was going to make it through, was that why she was so sure of herself?

But it was also a very sly, Slytherin thing to do, to _tell_ James that was what had happened and cause him to lose focus fretting over the fate of his friend. He heard another yell come from the direction of the Forest, and his body tensed, coiled ready to spring into action.

Georgia shot him a flirtatious wink from where she was sat, lounging on her stretcher.

And all the while Clip continued to open the lead. James could just see him in the distance, he was about to cross the lip down into the valley, already several of the taller trees were beginning to block him from view.

' _Bombarda!'_ came the cry from up the trail.

The entire group sat stunned as a resounding _boom_ echoed through the trees. A flock of birds took off, startled, and he thought he saw a tree beginning to lean drunkenly on its neighbour.

'What the-' began Preston Lynch.

But James was smiling; he knew just who had been keeping that spell up their sleeve for a special occasion. He shot the smuggest of smiles over at Georgia, who stuck out her tongue in response, and check his strappings one final time. One eye on the trail and one on his chosen broom, he waited for Holly to come forth.

Sure enough, within a few seconds he saw his friend come tearing up the track, a nasty looking scratch under her eye and a great tear down one side of her robes. Her eyes quickly found James and she sprinted up to him, crashing into him and nearly bringing them both down together. She forced a piece of folded parchment into James' hands – the Map, which he tucked loosely into a slot on his belt.

'Get going!' she cried, and gave James a _very_ embarrassing slap on the arse as he turned tail and ran. He wasn't halfway to the broomstick stand when he heard Holly's voice once more.

'Braithwaite you bitch!'

He turned, in spite of himself, to see Holly storming over at a floundering, sputtering Georgia, who was hastily trying to fish out her wand. Competition forgotten, most of the rest of the first years rushed in to get front-row seats to the duel, while Professor Ellfrick tried in vain to diffuse the situation.

James turned his back on the chaos, just in time to miss Preston Lynch pushing his way through and breaking clear, aiming his wand at James.

' _Locomotor Mortis!'_

' _Imminuum!'_ was the answering cry. The spell, which had been mere feet away from connecting with James' back, fizzled out, dissipated by the defensive effort.

James turned in surprise to see Eldon Prescott standing opposite Preston, a confident, cocky grin on his face.

'We're with you, James,' he said with a wink, 'now go.'

James didn't need telling twice, and he kicked off from the ground hard, amidst an onslaught of foul language from Preston and a background of angry Hexes from Holly.

As he raced up into the skies, the wind whipping ferociously at his hair, James let out a whoop of triumph – they had done it. They were near enough to the front of the pack to still be in with a shot. He was confident he could run down Clip, he just needed three others to do it as well. It was all in James' hands now.

The crisp air smelt sharply of pine needles, as James approached the first golden hoop. It was the only one before they would enter the valley, where all the real fun would start. He leant into the breeze and shot forward towards the centre.

A stirring caught his gaze off to the left. He turned to see a giant _wall_ of air rushing towards him. Of course – the bloody obstacles – the enchantments layered onto the course designed to interfere with the students. He reached for his wand as the gust approached, showers of pine needles, leaves and a few smaller twigs caught up in its twisting, eddying frontage.

' _Imminuum!'_ James used the dissipating spell that he had been practicing all week, that Eldon had just used to save him a lot of consternation back on the ground.

The wall of wind rushed onwards, breaking around his wand point, leaving him only with a soft lovers' caress of its fingertips. A single pine needle managed to worm its way into his mouth, and he promptly spat it out, around his ear-to-ear grin. The spell _worked._ The spell worked, he was on a broomstick, and he felt _alive._

As he neared the clifftop, three figures took off almost simultaneously from back at the tent, unnoticed by James. He dived down into the deep, rugged valley. A misty cloud cover that he hadn't noticed before was obscuring his view from above. He pushed his way through it, wiping his flying goggles with his gloves as the dew clung to them obnoxiously. Shortly, he burst forth into the valley proper, and almost stopped dead in his tracks, surveying the scene of chaos before him.

He had entered at the southern end of the valley, nearest the school. It stretched out before him, at least twice the length of a Quidditch pitch from one side to the other, and a mile or more long before it took a sharp left turn, twisting out of sight. The course was laid out before him in a clash of amber-and-gold hoops, snaking its way over rocky outcrops, past craggy cliff faces and kissing the tops of the soft, lush foliage down on the valley floor.

A wide, slow river meandered its way along the valley floor, the surface teased and snagged every so often by the aftereffects of the wind enchantments placed upon the course. Foamy spray whipped up, tiny whitecaps dancing and twirling through the air. A large animal was wading out through its depth near the far, northern end of the valley. From this distance James was unable to make it out, but unless his eyes were deceiving him it would have been something colossal in size; its head was reaching higher than the treetops.

Stray tendrils of roiling mist clung to the valley walls, like miniature, tethered clouds gripping desperately to the cliff faces, afraid of falling. Much like the sparse, scraggly trees that were perched in a similar, precarious position on both of the rocky faces. Dampness filled the air, a soft drizzling rain where only seconds ago, above the valley it had been bright and sunny. James looked up, but could see nothing of the true sky through the thick cover of mist.

He barely had time to think how odd that was, when a jet of red light streaked out from one of the mist-shrouded stretches of the valley wall across from him. The spell zinged through the air and crashed into the rocky face on his side of the valley, a hundred or so feet below his current position, where he could just make out a figure crouched behind a rocky outcrop.

Clip.

Two more spells shot out, this time aimed at James, and he tucked into a hasty dive in order to avoid them. Now that he looked closer, he could see bodies dotting the far wall of the valley, concentrated on the areas where the mist was still clinging to the walls, offering them some measure of cover. As far up as James could see, all along the length and breadth of the course, tiny figures in dark robes were squatting behind boulders, clinging on to trees or shrubs, all with wands aimed at James or Clip. James could make out the nearest ones more clearly, and saw that they were in pairs, one with Omnioculars held to their eyes while the other fired spells. James gulped as he had to execute an inch-perfect sloth grip roll to avoid another spell. This was going to be a nightmare of a gauntlet to run. He just hoped that R.U.S.T were up to protecting him.

In a gap in the spellfire, James ducked down behind a towering pine tree, attempting to tug the Invisibility Cloak from his satchel bag and throw it over his head. He got it halfway out when a jet of silver light zipped over his head, setting fire to the tree and causing him to duck down in panic. He hastily shoved the Cloak back into his bag as best he could and made for the small section of cover that Clip had managed to find, hunched right over the handle of his broom.

Flapping precariously behind him, less than half tucked in to his bag, was the Cloak.

With an ungainly crash landing onto the scree-covered slope, James pulled up with Clip, choosing his footing carefully on the tiny ledge. There was just enough rock for them both to hide behind, seemingly with all angles covered from the onslaught of spells.

'What the _hell_ is going on?' Clip yelled over the wind, which seemed to be whipping about with more ferocity here. 'They didn't mention this in the briefing!'

'Lenders!' James called back, 'they are after anyone who is a favourite to win F.A.R.T club. Mostly the two of us, apparently.'

'Shit,' swore Clip. James couldn't have put it better himself.

Where in Merlin's name were R.U.S.T?

Behind the pair, three figures penetrated the mist in a tight formation, closely followed by two more. The five immediately drew fire from across the valley. James saw the first group split as one, all three executing impressive aerial manoeuvres to dodge the volley of spells. Of the second two, one figure took a shot square to the chest and was knocked clean off of his broom.

James yelled out in horror as the figure fell, arms and legs flailing. A strangled cry followed by a scream reached them, several seconds after the hit. Mercifully, the figure seemed to hit some sort of barrier, some level that had been enchanted beneath the course, and he drifted lazily like a leaf on the breeze the last few metres down through the tree tops, unharmed.

The remaining four were bearing down on James and Clip now, all sufficiently skilled on their brooms to keep ahead of the spells being launched in their direction. Now more students were shooting down into the valley, punching through the thick veil of mist. The fire remained focused on James, Clip and the original group. James thought he saw Freddy's red hair among them; of course, the Lenders would be wanting to bring down all of the top teams, and have a team upon which nobody had bet winning the competition.

James nudged Clip, they were in danger of being overtaken now. He had been paralysed by fear for too long. This wasn't a time to cling to a teacher's skirt, or cower in fear behind a rock. This was the time for him to act. His friends were out there taking fire; the least he could do was get out there and join them, show them that he, too was unafraid, that he stood together with them.

The two boys shared a resolute nod, and together they sprinted the short distance to the brink of the rocky outcrop, vaulting themselves into mid-air, suspended over the valley below momentarily in a theatrical leap of faith.

James threw his broom beneath him and pulled hard on the handle, straightening his flight path. The next hoop was down and to his right, a short way up the valley. It would take him past two Lender positions, offering an easy target. He sensed Clip tuck in beside him, and banked hard in that direction.

Flinty, jagged rock whipped past on his right hand side, within reach of his arm. Clip was pushing himself hard, directly behind James now. A sliver of twinkling mist winked ominously at them up ahead, hiding a student wearing a Lenders badge no doubt. James tucked himself down onto his broom and accelerated, hoping to beat him with speed.

Down he pushed, and forwards, eking out all that he could from the tired old broom. He was nearly level with the mist-shrouded position when he saw it; a silvery net hanging in the air directly in front of the next hoop. There was no way he was going to be able to pull up, he was less than thirty feet from contact. He fumbled for his wand, but knew there wasn't going to be enough time. He threw his hands up desperately before him, hoping to at least avoid injury. His broomstick bucked violently as he let it go. He braced for impact, covering his face-

' _Incendio Magna!'_

James felt a rush of heat, but miraculously no brutal contact with a waiting net. He looked up and saw a blessed sight before him; five golden-robed figures arrayed in a loose 'V' formation before himself and Clip. The silvery net was nothing more than a few tatters, drifting off in the wind like so many strands of a spider web.

He fought with his broomstick to get it under control, as it was now veering dangerously towards the cliff face. Clip overtook him briefly, until another burst of wind rushed towards them head-on. James whipped up his wand and cast the Dissipation Charm just in time. Clip wasn't so lucky, and was knocked back a good ten feet. James limped past and through the hoop, tucking in comfortably behind his R.U.S.T bodyguard. Clip had to push his broom to its limits to catch up again, so desperate was he to enjoy in the protection as well.

'About time you manned up and made a run Potter,' one of the golden-clad bodyguards barked from the point position, 'we was thinking you had gone all first-year on us with your little boyfriend back there. Thought maybe we was gonna have to come down and shake things up a bit.'

James was too busy ducking and dodging and covering from the rain of spellfire to talk. Frankly, he would rather his protection were of the same opinion. He thought it might have been Left who had spoken to him. Or Right, he could never be quite sure.

He took advantage of the momentary reprieve to shoot a glance back at the pack following them. The original group of three was now four, and James could definitely make out Fred from this distance now, along with another figure that made him sick: Preston Lynch. With them was Bianca and Eldon, two of the better fliers in first year. It was no wonder that those four had managed to pull away from the others, despite drawing the vast majority of the fire.

In the short seconds that James was watching, he saw yet another of his classmates take a hit, a purple jet of light straight to the face. The figure tried valiantly to hang on, but a second blast knocked him clean off, and he, too floated down to the forest floor.

James spun about and focused on his own path, as the group around him started diving sharper, down towards the valley floor where the next ring was shimmering a mere hand's width above the surface of the lake. The older students bunched up around their charges as they approached. James and Clip zipped through the hoop in single file, Left dissipating the blast of air that rocketed down from above, aimed to knock the students down into the river.

'Hold on to your Pygmy Puffs, Princesses, this next one's gonna sort the men from the boys!' Left (James had decided that he would be Left, at least until James could get he and Right in the same room together) yelled back at them.

James looked up through the buffeting wind. The next ring was sat on the western wall of the valley, where the majority of the Lenders were positioned. Spells were zinging out with greater ferocity from that area now that all the students were in the valley, and the Lenders' men had sorted out the targets that they wanted.

Jets of green, silver and several shades of red were raining down on them. The R.U.S.T escort was having a hard time keeping shields up continuously as well as returning fire. As they banked and pushed upwards, the man on Left's left took a shot to the chest and fell screaming into the river below. He landed with a muted splash and a desperate flailing of limbs. James looked back in horror but Left had eyes only for the next objective.

'Next man up!' he called, and the formation tightened, the arms of the 'V' now uneven. The two students on James' right, the side where the fire was coming from were audibly panting now, even over the wind. They were all snarling at the effort of casting so many shield charms. The fire from the Lenders was incessant, their numbers far greater.

Three hoops remained. Sixteen students left in the valley, four bodyguards, and Merlin-only-knows how many Lenders camped out among the rocks and scree slopes.

Clip had a half-crazed look on his face, but a determined light was flaring behind his eyes, he was flying better than James had ever seen him do before. James drew strength from that, and clenched his teeth. A jet of orange light zipped past so close that he felt the tug on his robes. He leant up on his broom with an angry snarl and ripped off a spell in the direction of his attacker.

' _Bombarda!'_

His aim was wonky, the spell fell low of its misty mark, but he blasted a hole in the scree below the Lender's position. Rocks began to fall, gathering momentum, growing in size. Soon a large section of the hillside was rocketing down towards the valley floor, and James saw a robed figure flailing and scrabbling for purchase lest he join in their fate.

'Point to the first years!' Clip cried.

'Heads up!' warned Left.

The group was approaching the ring now, drawing them right in to the valley wall. A great swathe of mist marked this spot as the stronghold for the Lenders. The spellfire was intensifying exponentially as the group neared. R.U.S.T abandoned all pretence of attack and devoted all of their energy to maintaining shields. As fast as they could draw them up though, they were being blasted down by the eager enfilade. Each time a spell hit, a webbed set of cracks appeared. By now, the defenders were rapidly tiring, and it was taking only a single spell more to blast through the shield, draining the magical reserves of the young witches and wizards protecting James and Clip.

James screamed in horror, as suddenly, out of the mist clawed a series of giant snakes, writhing and twisting fluidly in the air, hungrily rushing towards the group. Clip was echoing his yells, and the group, at a barked order from Left, split each way. James realised too late that he and Clip had been meant to follow, and the flying snakes leapt forwards to claim their prize.

' _Diffindo!'_

Clip, thankfully, had retained his head, realised well before James that the objects were mere ropes, rather than giant snakes. James didn't have time to reprimand himself, however, as an off-cut of one of the ropes whipped past, slapping him hard on the side. He felt a tear, and looked down to see his belt ripped away, snagged and snarled upon the conjured ropes.

'The Map!' he cried, not even noticing as he and Clip shot through the hoop and the rest of R.U.S.T re-joined them, now down to only three members, the fourth golden figure still drifting down towards the forest, seemingly unconscious from this distance.

'What'choo say?' Left yelled back at James.

'The Map! Wren's map!' James repeated again, frantically. He could still see his kit, barely, whipping about in the wind, plummeting down through the tree tops. The precious Map tied to his belt somewhere amongst it all.

'Fuck the Map Potter, making you win this thing is all we are here for!'

James stared, incredulous. How could he be so blasé about what must have been Wren and Nero's, on the surface his employers – maybe even friend's – greatest creation. A piece of magic the likes of which had not seen for over forty years. James cast a last, wistful glance back, but it was gone, fallen out of sight now.

He was forced to carry on, as the entourage banked hard and moved out, taking Clip and James with them. The remaining two hoops were headed in the direction of the castle, back to the south. The majority of the fire was coming from behind them now, and they were increasing the distance between the Lenders' locations with every second they flew.

To their credit, the R.U.S.T guards stayed firm, and kept the shields up for the rest of the course. A single spell whipped closely past James' head, singeing a few of his hairs and causing him to emit a rather girlish scream of fright, which caused Left no end of joy.

James and Clip had to manage the last two wind-walls themselves, Clip tucking in behind James as he was the better spell caster. They managed both with little effort, and had now drawn out a considerable lead on Fred's group, who were somewhat stymied by the Lender stronghold position where James could have sworn he was being attacked by giant flying snakes.

They reached a spot near the top of the valley, and Left barked a sharp command. The five pulled up, hovering high over the southern end of the valley, nearest the school. Spread out to the north was the remainder of the students, some still ducking and diving around and between spellfire. Fred's group, now down to only two, had overcome the stronghold and now was fast approaching. They had only the last two, easiest hoops to go.

James' relief was almost cathartic; they had made it through the valley unharmed, both he and Clip. He was grinning like an idiot, sagging slightly into his broom, exhausted. At this stage he didn't care that Clip was going to beat him at F.A.R.T club. After the ordeal that they had just gone through he would happily cross the line arm in arm with his friend, and to hell with R.U.S.T or the Lenders or anyone who tried to stop him.

'Time to wrap this up,' Left grunted, raising his wand once more.

James looked on in some confusion as Left brought his wand up vertically, directly above their heads.

'Periculum!' he barked.

Clip gasped in awe, and James found himself feeling the same, as the spell rocketed up into the dense curtain of mist and exploded directly above them, releasing an earth-shattering _BOOM_. Left looked on in silence, a satisfied smirk on his face as the spell sent out a shower of cascading golden sparks from the heart of the explosion. James looked on in stunned amazement; everything seemed to freeze in the valley, as breaths were held, eyes turned to the heavens.

Everywhere the golden sparks touched the dense mist they burned it away, leaving smoking voids criss-crossing the entire surface. Here and there rays of true sunlight slanted into the valley, adding contrasting slashes of vibrant colour to the washed out scene. The mist, as if it were a living thing, began to recoil everywhere the sparks touched it, drawing in on itself, shrinking from every angle. Soon the shafts of sunlight began to meet up and join; the valley became bathed in a natural, golden glow.

Unnoticed by many, all around the valley walls, teams of golden-robed figures descended through the air and a controlled pace, sinking into the stubborn strands of mist still clinging to cliff faces, all the while raining barrage after barrage of spellfire down with them.

Left smiled as James noticed the attacks taking place. By now almost every first-year in the valley had stopped to watch in awe, the competition all but forgotten. Fred and Preston had even paused, several hundred feet below in the valley floor.

'What...' James began.

'Beautiful, innit?' sneered Left.

'What the hell have you done?' Clip asked, equal parts incredulous and outraged.

'Well, now that we have ensured James' victory, we can set about cleaning house, as it were. Cleaning the Lenders house, that is. As you can see it wasn't quite as ship-shape as they would have liked.'

Screams were beginning to reach James' ears from the spots around the hillsides where fighting was thickest. The wisps of mist were illuminated by colours two, three times a second like a rapid-fire beating of a lightning heart. He saw bodies falling from their positions, drifting down towards the valley floor, encapsulated by the same enchantment that took care of the falling first-years.

Even as they watched, the number of gold figures falling was beginning to increase. James watched one thrown out towards the centre of the valley, screaming in blind fear and panic. Another was buried beneath a small landslide of dust and gravel. He did not see them rise again. Now that the element of surprise had been lost, the Lenders were putting up a stiff resistance, and it was beginning to look like R.U.S.T was going to have a desperate fight on their hands.

The first-years all around the valley had taken off again, eager to be away from this absolute madness.

James and Clip shared a glance, and a determined grin. It was time to get going, and decide this once and for all. James knew he may not have it all to play for, but he was damn well going to make Clip work for that first place finish this time around.

The pair tightened the grips on their brooms and made to fly off toward the now-clear southern end of the valley, and onwards towards the finishing line near the school.

Left shifted to block their paths.

James shot him a frown, he looked back and saw Fred and Preston on the move, both jostling for position in the air, all elbows and hard knocks.

'Not so fast,' Left goaded. He had a wicked grin on his face that James did not like the look of one bit. 'As I was saying, we are here to ensure your victory Potter. There's one task left. _Stupefy_!'

Before James had any hope of reacting, the spell leapt from Left's wand and slammed into Clip, knocking him backwards from his broom. James screamed as his friend fell, unconscious, his arms flailing uselessly at his sides. He tried to take off after him, but one of the R.U.S.T figures grabbed him by the arm in a vice-like grip.

'Now, now Potter,' Left chuckled, 'Wren thought we might run into this little snag. Use that pretty head of yours for a second. There are three of us against one of you. This doesn't end well for one party. Be a good lickle firstie and run along and make us rich. Your friend is fine, the enchantment will wake him up before he hits the ground, and he can get back on his broom and fly all the way home.

'You, on the other hand, will _not_ be fine if you hang around waiting much longer and that carrot-headed princess and his angry boyfriend catches up to you. Now go!'

With that, the figure released James, and Left slashed his wand downwards. James felt a titanic gale gather him up and shoot him towards the southern end of the valley, away from the chaos, and on to victory.

He hated himself for being a coward, he hated himself for not being able to protect his friend, and most of all he hated himself for ever trusting Wren, Nero and the whole of R.U.S.T, but James flew onwards, to claim his prize.

Tears were stinging his eyes long before he left the valley behind him.

Perhaps it was these tears, blurring his vision, or perhaps he was guilty of already assuming himself victorious, and so taking his mind off the task at hand. Perhaps it was the fact that he had just been through an absolutely harrowing experience with his friend, only to be betrayed at the eleventh hour by those who had been supposedly sworn to protect him. Whatever it was, as James rose up out of the valley he failed to see the single jet of silver light shooting upwards from the Forest canopy.

It collected him on the right shoulder, connecting with the force of a punch from a mountain troll. He spun violently, crying out in pain and confusion. His broom bucked and swerved beneath him, out of control. His hands momentarily rocked from their grip on the haft. He cradled his right arm which now hung dead and useless. He was losing altitude rapidly, his feet beginning to skim the tops of the tallest trees. He gripped his broomstick with his functioning left hand, fighting to bring it under control.

The vibrations in the haft were too fierce, and he was shaken loose once more. With a strangled yell, his knee collided with a solid bough, and he was flung violently off of his broom, tumbling through scratching, clawing branches and vines to the ground below.

He landed with a painful thud, tangled amongst the shrubbery. He looked about, disoriented, for a few moments, before the recollection washed over him. Who could have been positioned up here, out of the valley? A fail-safe from the Lenders, perhaps? Surely if that had been the case, R.U.S.T would have escorted him further. He hissed in pain as the snarling, thorny bush raked savage claws across his exposed skin.

His Quidditch robes were a shredded, tattered mess, dotted with numerous cuts and scratches, many oozing blood slowly into the crimson fabric. He writhed and shifted, reaching painfully for his wand with his left hand, his entire right arm still tingling and useless.

He managed to work himself free, thanks to several well-placed cutting curses and a multitude of new scratches. He searched frantically through the undergrowth for several seconds before coming across his broom, chipped, scratched and scarred to mirror himself, but otherwise unharmed. He picked it up, offering it some crooning words of encouragement and a sincere apology, before dragging it over to the clearest part of his crash-zone to kick off.

He mounted up next to the bush he had landed in, and saw amongst the brambles a trace of tan leather; his satchel bag. He blasted the bush away with an aggressive ' _Incendio'_ and tugged free the remainder of his possessions.

As he broke the bag free of the bush, something caught his attention out the corner of his eye; a figure, darting through the undergrowth nearby, hood up and stooped over. There was a brief glint of silver, and he lost sight momentarily. He brought his wand up and fired a Body-bind curse, but his aim with his left hand was poor, and the sounds of the figure scurrying off continued, apparently unfazed.

Hooded figures where they ought not to be wasn't good news at the best of times, and these were far from that. James quickly kicked off and shot up into the air, out of harm's way and back into the race, battered, bruised and not a little confused, but above all, determined.

He limped into the air, his broom crabbing hard to the left, vibrating angrily between his fingers. He willed it onwards, one last dash for the line was all that was left to him. Behind him by less than thirty yards were Fred and Preston, angrily jostling and colliding with each other still. James leant down, almost flush against the polished wood, and tucked his elbows into his body, desperate for every last vestige of speed the broom had to offer.

He reached for his bag, strapped to his waist. There were a few tricks hidden away, meant for last-ditch, desperation plays if he needed a slight edge to get the win. If there was ever a time it was going to be now. Fred and Preston were less than twenty yards away now.

With a jolt of horror, James felt his hand pass right through the bottom of his bag, and he looked down in confusion. It had been ripped clean open. He cursed aloud at his rotten luck, the bush must have claimed its contents as its own. James hoped they killed it, slowly.

James had cleared the Forest now, and was racing up across the grounds, he had only the Quidditch pitch to wrap around, and there would be a giant gold-and-silver pavilion erected on a small hill: the finish line. He was under a minute away from victory, but he could now hear Fred and Preston cursing at each other, even over the sound of the wind. A check back showed him that they were less than three body-lengths behind, and still closing.

Teeth clenched painfully tight, James banked in hard up against the Quidditch stadium. He took the corner as tight as he possibly could, the wide, sweeping left-handed turn around the castle-side of the pitch. He was so close he could have reached out and touched the woodwork. His old, battered broom was starting to rock alarmingly. _Steady… steady_ he tried to force calm into the handle from his mind alone.

'You're mine, Potter!' came a snarl from immediately behind him, and James felt, rather than saw, Preston Lynch close the gap on his right hand side.

Fred slid in on his left as he cleared the pitch. His aggressive turning had gained him no ground whatsoever. His broom just wasn't up to it, after the beating that it had taken. James screamed in frustration. To have come so far and be bested by this, by an unlucky shot from someone who should never have even been there. Preston gained a half-foot lead as they crested a small rise. James saw his toes scrape the gravel, and chose that time to knock a solid elbow into his rib cage.

Preston let out a very satisfying grunt, and jerked off course momentarily. It was all the opening James needed to edge past him again. He was neck and neck with Fred now, coming into the final stretch, a hundred-yard dash across flat, green grass. It was going to be a pure sprint to the finish. James groaned, his broom wasn't going to be up to it, he knew it.

Fred was gaining ground, already a quarter of a body-length ahead. He nudged James solidly in the ribs, and James felt something pointy stabbing into him. Instinctively he reached down and yanked it out from where it was jammed beneath a strap on his robes. Something shiny, black and ticking softly appeared in his hand.

A Decoy Detonator.

A Decoy Detonator that had been activated by the collision and was about to blow. James looked up and saw the finish line, less than thirty yards away and closing fast. He could sense Preston gaining again on his right flank, out of the running for now, but if James messed this up by even the tiniest amount, he would lose enough momentum to be overtaken.

As Fred angled in on James, trying to cut him off and force him to settle in behind him up to the finish line, James lashed out with the hand holding the detonator, slapping Fred hard in the stomach.

James heard a satisfying _oof_ and when his own hand came away it was free of the detonator. He pulled his broom to the right slightly, edging away from any further contact with Fred, but in the process ceding his spot alongside him. Fred was now clearly in the lead with fifteen yards to go. It all came down to whether or not James' wild plan was going to work.

James' broom was protesting vehemently against the abuse he was handling it, weaving slightly as he forced in through the last few yards. The crowd within and around the tent was roaring now, banners and colours where whipping past too quickly for James to notice. The noise seemed uproarious, he couldn't hear anything else. His mind seemed to zero in on a single voice, a girl, screaming at the top of her lungs. He didn't know why, but she was cut off mid scream by a sound from much closer by.

 _Poof._ _BANG._

The detonator did its job, inside of ten yards from the finish line it exploded violently in Fred's lap, causing him to curse violently. His broom handle wedged in behind a rock on the ground, and he was flung forwards, airborne, toward the finish line. James pulled up alongside him, pushing his own broom for all it was worth. Fred stayed airborne, flailing and cursing, threatening to clean James out with a stray limb.

'Come on!' James screamed at his broom as they neared the line.

It must have heard him, for he surged forwards at the last minute, just as Fred fell, bouncing on the soft, springy turf. James rocketed over the finish line, well overshooting the landing zone, coming to a stop inches away from the wall of the golden pavilion, a few extra bruises and grass-stains now decorating the canvas that was his body.

He had done it, he had won F.A.R.T club.

The realisation hit him at the same time as three other figures did, streaking across from the first-year participants' area, all squeals and yells and triumphant joy. They had done it together, the victory was theirs to share.

James eventually dragged himself up gingerly from the scrum of his friends and teammates. He congratulated a chagrined Fred, who in turn offered his praise on an ingenious use of the Detonators. James just offered a modest shrug, truth be told he wasn't even sure what reserve he had been running on by that stage, even now it was all a little hazy.

The aches began to set in as he waited for the other contestants to finish. Madam Petheridge saw to his multitude of cuts and scrapes with many an angry titter. He was confined to the hospital tent until the prize giving ceremony, but that was fine by him. He had had enough of F.A.R.T to last him a lifetime, he just wanted to be with his friends.

They each swapped stories about their respective tasks; one for each of the four key elements. Tristan told him about the maze he had had to navigate. A room in the castle had been transformed, and a maze erected. Some of the walls were wrought of fire, in increasing strength as the maze went on. James listened with no small amount of incredulity as Tristan described dashing through the licking tongues of flame to get through the final wall and make the exit first, as he had been so drained from casting multiple _Aguamenti_ spells in such quick succession. He had emerged both in first place, and with slightly less hair than when he had started out, but he was well in the lead.

Cassie had been tasked with crossing the lake, given only three planks of wood and a spare bedsheet. She had crafted what sounded like the least seaworthy raft James had ever heard of, and set about blowing herself across using the _Ventus_ wind-making spell. She had begun with a comfortable head-start courtesy of Tristan's efforts, but Rain had run her down well before she had crossed halfway. The water seemed to part for that girl, and she had perfect control over a continuous stream of wind power as she glided into a comfortable lead for her team.

Holly told of the obstacle course that awaited her through the outer regions of the Forbidden Forest. She had crossed ravines, scaled fallen trees and evaded throngs of grabby, angry plants that sounded a lot like the baby Devil's Snares that James had accidentally cultivated in his trunk one night. She swore impressively when she got to the part about Georgia Braithwaite shoving her off an embankment and into a tangle of those plants. She would have emerged first if it wasn't for that, she maintained, but she seemed somewhat pleased with the fact that she had managed to relieve Georgia of a good chunk of her precious golden locks in their brawl afterwards.

His friends listened with rapt attention as James recounted his exploits in the fourth stage. They gasped and offered shocked observations at all the right times, Cassie exclaiming several times that the Lenders had 'no right' to do any of that. James just shrugged, and carried on. Nobody had tried very hard to stop them, other than R.U.S.T, whom he now knew were no better at all. He skimmed over the part where Clip went down. Holly let out a triumphant yell, before covering her mouth, abashed. James smiled and leaned back in his bed, resting his head on the pillow.

'The rest, as you saw it, is history.'

They made him recount his story several more times before Dominique came barrelling into the tent to inform them that the prize giving ceremony was about to begin. James hobbled out with Tristan and Holly's support, his muscles stiffening and cramping in response to the abuse he had just heaped on them over the last hour or so.

The ceremony itself was a bit of a surreal blur for James. The top three teams were paraded in front of the clamouring onlookers, who cheered and whooped, throwing confetti and letting off spells in excitement. James tried to catch Clip's eye while they were up on the podium together, but to no avail. Rain was glaring thunderheads in James' direction from the second place spot, so he gave that one up as a bad job pretty quickly. Freddy seemed in good spirits, his team coming in third place, but the real victory of the day as far as James was concerned, was the look on Preston Lynch's face as he had to watch on from the crowds below, having only managed a sixth place finish overall, behind Cat and Emry's teams.

Finally, the moment that the entire first year had been waiting for and speculating over for most of the school year arrived. The announcement of the Mystery Grand Prize. Dominique stepped up, and pointed her wand to her throat.

' _Sonorus_ , good. And so, finally, awarding of the prizes. In third place; Fred Weasley, Caspar Helstrom, Tansy McKendrick and Bridget Flynn!'

The crowd applauded politely. A chorus of cheers and whoops came from the small contingent of older Weasleys.

'Each student will receive twenty house points, and a copy of the new book, _Practical Wand-Work for the Adventurous Witch or Wizard; a Collaboration based on the study of the Golden Trio and their Adventures in fighting Lord Voldemort!'_

James saw Cassie's ears perk up at mention of that, any literature based even partly on Hermione Granger he was sure she would have read at least a dozen times over.

'In second place; Clip Wallace, Michael Tring, Georgia Braithwaite and, er… Rain!' More applause. 'Each student will receive thirty house points, a copy of _Practical Wand-Work_ … Erm… that book, as well as a private tutoring session with one of the school-based Aurors, including the basics of several advanced spells beyond first-year curriculum! That's bound to get a few bonus marks come exam time!'

Clip looked positively delighted by this prospect, but Rain was still glaring daggers in the direction of James' team.

'And finally, in first place; James Potter, Cassandra Featherstone, Tristan MacMillan and Holly Brooks!'

The crowd leapt to its feet, screaming and yelling in celebration. James couldn't help himself; he proffered a small bow, which sent them into fits of hysterics all over again.

'To the winners, go fifty house points, the book of _Practical Wand-Work_ as well as a full orientation and Auror training session, complete with tactical training, on-the-job spell practice and real time combat experience. As you know, the idea for F.A.R.T club was one I had based off of the Auror trainings that were run on the eighth floor. These lucky first-years will get to participate in one of these very training sessions as soon as next weekend, when they try and defend our very own Heart of Hogwarts from a group of mock-attackers!'

That had pricked James' ears up immediately, the mention of the 'H' word. Whispers rippled about the gathered, all focused on one thing. The Heart. He caught himself grinning triumphantly, a chance to get to see the Heart again, under easier circumstances, already he couldn't wait. He hugged Holly eagerly, and wrapped up Tristan and Cassie for good measure, despite their protests. They were presented with a trophy; a foot-high golden replica of the statues that they were hunting in the first three F.A.R.T meetings, but James could care less for that.

He was going to get to see the Heart again.

As the ceremony wound up and the crowds began to disperse, James turned to face Clip, offering him an awkward smile and an apologetic shrug. He noticed Rain had already stormed off, her red-gold locks whisking away through the crowds hurriedly.

'I'm sorry mate,' James offered, 'I really wanted to come back and get you. Those guys though, they made me carry on.'

'Yea, I dunno what I expected, really,' Clip muttered, 'my fault for thinking James Potter was being honest with us from the start. I guess I just thought, maybe the son of Harry Potter might look out for his friends a little better.'

With that he turned and left with the remainder of his team. His words cut James, searing through him like a knife, most of all because he knew that they were true, all of them. For all he told himself he would try, over and over again he kept putting himself in front of his friends, making decisions for them or hiding things from them. He let the pain wash over him in waves for a few second, reconciling with the fact that he was indeed a terrible friend, before he allowed himself to be dragged away to join in the revelling with the rest of his friends.

As they made their way along a meandering path slowly and merrily, stopping a multitude of times to receive congratulations or praise, up to the castle James found himself walking alongside Holly. Her eyes were reflecting the afternoon sunlight in a soft, sparkling manner, reminding James of a particularly starry night when they were up on the Astronomy Tower peering up through telescopes at the night sky. She had an ear to ear smile, and wrapped herself around James' arm when she noticed him.

'Did you do it?' she whispered conspiratorially, resting her head on his shoulder so as not to be heard over the hubbub.

'Yea,' smirked James, 'dropped it right in front of Left, they all saw it fly off. He even said to leave it, they won't suspect a thing.'

Holly gave an excited squeal, and squeezed his arm tight, burrowing into his neck.

'You're the best, James,' she whispered softly, causing him to break out in gooseflesh all down one side of his body.

He could hardly believe it had been that easy. Deep in the Forest Holly had hidden the real Map on her person, replacing it with the one which she had handed James, little more than a piece of scrap parchment salvaged from the bottom of her own trunk. The simplicity of their revenge in the face of R.U.S.T's treachery was a thing of beauty.

James smiled to himself. He was going to see the Heart, and he had swindled the new and improved Marauders Map from the treacherous R.U.S.T, life was good.

There was a small commotion outside the entrance to the castle when James got there. He paused, stepping up on his toes to try and see, but to no avail.

Choruses of 'what's happening' were rippling about through the gathered students, eventually, filtered down from the front ranks came the news.

There had been another attempted break in.

James looked at Holly worriedly, he clutched his satchel bag to his chest surreptitiously, as if the thief were in their midst right now. He opened it to check the contents, before realising it was empty, he had lost it all in the Forest.

Wait.

He had lost it all in the Forest. All of his gear.

A shadowy figure had shot him down. He had wandered about disoriented, separated from his bag. By the time he got back, his bag was ruined and the figure was disappearing.

James was looking down at his empty bag in crushing, crippling horror.

 _His Invisibility Cloak was missing._


	22. Chapter 22

'I can't believe they are locking _us_ in,' grumbled Fred for the umpteenth time, staring wistfully out of the window. 'Why can't they just lock the bad guys _out?_ It's not fair.'

Nobody even responded this time; James had given up following Fred's third consecutive complaint. Holly, much to her credit, had stuck with it the longest, and was still humouring him with at least an empathetic smile.

The group – all seven of them, minus Rain – were seated around a large bay window in a quiet study room, casting numerous longing glances out towards the mid-April sunshine. The first such day they had had all week. Classes had finished, but as per the new school policy following the latest break-in attempt, no students were allowed out-of-doors unsupervised.

James silently agreed with Fred. He longed to be out there, zipping through the crisp evening air on his broom, watching the sun set over the Black Lake, or tossing around a spare Quaffle. Instead, Cassie had marched them forcefully up to this particular study room with an agonizingly good view out over the grounds and the Quidditch pitch, hell-bent on making them all revise, insisting that exams would be upon them "before they all knew it."

All James knew right now was that he was sick of reading about how to best re-pot a bouncing bulb.

He finally looked up in frustration, slamming his book shut and leaning back into his squishy armchair. A grey-cloaked figure briefly caught his eye, huddled in the corner of the room, hood drawn up hiding his features. One of the Steelhearts, the elite group of Aurors-cum-bodyguards usually reserved for the most delicate and dangerous of magical security tasks.

James had been fascinated to hear that they were coming to Hogwarts to assist in the bolstering of the school's defences. He had read all about their history, and constantly pestered his father to tell stories about them. They were a force which initially coalesced following the fall of Voldemort, made up of a mixture of ex-Aurors, civilian fighters and international bounty hunter wizards and witches, many of whom had arrived in the country chasing the sums put on the heads of the remaining Death Eaters who escaped following defeat at the Battle of Hogwarts.

The Steelhearts numbered only a score at their inception, and were self-governed, in no way affiliated with the Ministry of Magic. During the years immediately following Voldemort's defeat, they clashed often with the Ministry Aurors and officials, often through the ruthless hunting and tracking of their targets, and the less-than-savoury means of treating their charges, the principal among them being to carve out a crude heart-shape scar on the breast of any of the Death Eaters or other unlucky criminals whom they captured.

Tensions really began to rise as the Steelhearts, in their vigour, began apprehending innocent suspects, witches and wizards who had not yet been proven guilty. Skirmishes with ministry officials increased in frequency and intensity, to the point where one of Harry's Aurors was mortally wounded in a duel. From that point anyone found to be associated with the Steelhearts was deemed to be an outlaw in wizarding Britain, and in a laughably ironic twist, bounties were placed on their own heads.

The ensuing chaos that that edict created was contemporaneous with the last of the Death Eaters being rounded up, and it appeared that the Steelhearts were destined for a self-destructive spiral, whereby each member, having no more Death Eater subjects to hunt down, began seeking to turn in their brethren and gain the coveted bounties. Fights broke out in peaceful neighbourhoods, brother turned against brother and once more the wizarding community began to whisper behind frightened hands as blood started to flow in the streets.

It may well have devolved into another, albeit smaller, wizarding war, had Harry Potter not stepped in to save the day yet again. He publicly offered armistice to the Steelhearts, voiding all current bounties and offering them peace, provided they lay down their wands in violence, or joined with the ministry Defence forces.

Too wild and wily, undisciplined and untrained were they to join the ranks of the Aurors, but a home was found for them in the Department of Mysteries, where they largely worked as a security force, or so it was said. The organisation had gone quiet, and largely been forgotten over the past ten years. This was the first public job in which they had been enlisted since joining forces with the Ministry.

James' scrutiny must have alerted the heightened senses of the figure, and he watched, frozen as the shadowy hood turned to face him. They locked gazes – or would have, had the Steelheart possessed any eyes. Instead, beneath the cloak their swirled only inky blackness, slashed here and there by coruscating grey, spinning and swirling in lazy eddies like some sort of ill-omened mist.

Two golden orbs, lambent and threatening, flickered to life from within the depths of the hood. James started, but couldn't look away. Something held him there, staring avidly into the unnatural darkness within the hood, gripped almost physically by the strength of that golden glow.

The mist within the hood parted slightly, revealing a cruelly sinister grin. Two rows of gleaming white teeth, all sickeningly filed to honed points, glinted out at James. He shrunk backwards into his chair as far as he could go, in response to the primal fear that was bubbling up within him. Cold sweat had begun to break out, and a single bead was trickling slowly down his spine.

'James!' Holly's head appeared in his field of view, mere inches from his own face. The eye contact with the Steelheart was broken, and James instantly felt whatever magic had been holding him release its grip. He didn't think he had ever been so glad to see Holly's twinkling silver-grey eyes in his life.

'W-what?' he stammered, still a little shaky.

'Are you ok? You look a little pale. Fred just volunteered you to explain how to care for bouncing bulbs. I told him if that's the case then I'm going to go sit on the other side of the room. Black eyes really don't suit me.'

James barked a hollow laugh. 'Those Steelhearts are creepy,' he muttered.

That observation engendered a round of solemn nods and murmurs of agreement. A few of them cast furtive glances over shoulders, but the figure was back to slouching in his chair, hood downturned, apparently studying his own boots.

'Surely there is a better way to police the situation than let loose a bunch of convicts to watch over school children,' Cassie huffed, 'every story I have found on them hints at very dark beginnings. Etchings has even hypothesized that some of them are ex-Death Eaters, jumped ship to avoid being hunted down.'

James shuddered visibly at that. Holly popped herself down on the arm of his chair, plucking his Herbology textbook from his lap and flipping it open nonchalantly. 'I'll protect you James,' she whispered with a wink, 'they don't scare me.'

'Oh they're much more than that,' Cat chimed in gravely. Surely you know the _real_ story behind the Steelhearts? Mummy has been saying it for years, ever since they formed, she always knew.'

James very pointedly did _not_ look at Cassie at this point. In spite of that, he thought he could actually _hear_ her rolling her eyes in exasperation. Holly flashed him a secret smile hidden behind his Herbology textbook. 'Here we go,' she mouthed with a grin.

'Well, Mummy says that the Steelhearts are actually a band of Vampires, hailing from Eastern Europe. They were being raised as an experiment by Voldemort in secret, fed only on the blood of Basilisks. By the time they matured enough to be released upon the world, Voldemort had fallen, and his hold over them and their coven was broken. The group was exiled, and many were slain. The survivors fled to Britain, drawn to the location of their once-creator like to a lodestone. They quickly found that there was no hope for them should they choose to follow the path of Voldemort, and so they turned rogue bounty hunters. The rest is history.'

'Vampires crossed with basilisks?' Fred gasped, 'that sounds like the most awesomely evil thing in the world! How did Voldy manage that?'

'You don't seriously–' Cassie began, before she was cut off by Cat.

'Mummy isn't sure,' Cat admitted, 'but she says that their gaze will paralyse you, so you can't move. And all of their teeth are actually poisonous fangs, and that their faces are more snake than human, that's why they always wear their hoods up and–'

'I think we get the idea,' Cassie jumped in over top of Cat, firmly. James felt his heart hammering in his chest. That was _exactly_ what he had just felt upon making eye contact with the Steelheart. 'Now, if it's not _too much_ of an inconvenience, can somebody please recite how to best re-pot a bouncing bulb?'

The session continued, all except for Holly oblivious to the ghostly white pallor which had overcome James' features. She stayed by his side for the rest of the evening.

The following morning also found the group seated together at breakfast time, all gathered at the Ravenclaw table. Cassie had a Transfiguration textbook out and propped up against a milk jug, and was firing off questions at anyone unfortunate enough to catch her eye. Rain was absent yet again, and James had spied her over on the Slytherin table, huddled deep in conversation with Viola Greengrass, her arm around the young Slytherin's shoulders, red-gold hair cascading down about her face.

Something within James wanted to get up and go talk to her, to bring her back to their group. Something told him that that was important. He needed to make sure everything was ok. She had been particularly strange ever since the Christmas break, when the St Mungo's healers had prescribed her all of those potions to prevent her from falling ill within Hogwarts.

The main thing that was stopping him, though, was Viola. She was Holly's main antagonist within Slytherin. Most of the students had ceased actively bullying her following the Lenders false accusations, but from what little James could glean from Holly, Viola Greengrass was primary among the continued aggravators. The fact that Rain and she had been spending so much time together of late was a little unnerving for James to say the least.

He was brought back to the present by a jab in the ribs from Cat, who was seated on his left. He jerked and gave a very un-manly squeal. A chorus of laughter rang out up and down the Ravenclaw table, almost everyone within earshot, save for Cassie, who was very pointedly staring at him with a level gaze, as if she was anticipating a response.

'Is it my turn again already?' he asked, disappointed. 'I wasn't even looking-'

'James Potter, not only did you personally promise me that you would help me study Transfiguration, you are the only one among us who has not answered a single question correctly. Just because we have a busy day ahead of us is no excuse for distraction.'

James grumbled something unintelligible about Professor Plye always picking on him, but really he was thinking about exactly what it was that they had planned for the rest of the day: The Mystery Grand Prize, mystery no more, was about to be his. Theirs, he corrected himself hurriedly. He was off to see the Heart as soon as the rest of his team had finished breakfast. His foot began tapping beneath the desk, and he was toying with his fork, spinning it around atop his wand distractedly. He had wolfed down his food in about thirty seconds flat, but Cassie seemed perfectly content to take her sweet time, helping herself to a course of cereals and fruit topped off with some Herbology study, before transitioning into a heartier cooked breakfast with a side of Transfiguration. Watching it all languidly play out before him was leaving a cramp in James' own stomach.

Without warning, the rumbling chatter throughout the Great Hall died down, stifled and winked out in the space of a heartbeat. James craned his neck eagerly to see what had caused the disturbance. He recoiled visibly as his eyes fell on a single figure silhouetted against the door out to the Entrance Hall.

A Steelheart.

Nearly a thousand pairs of eyes tracked the figure as it strode calmly up the aisle between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables. A hushed series of whispers snaked through the room, tracking the figure as it passed. From the swell of the chest and the tumbling locks of sliver-blonde hair which fell elegantly from the murky hood, it was obvious that this one was female. Beyond that, little else was obvious. As she passed by, James caught wind of a sickly-sweet scent, both enticing and repulsive at the same time; the smell of death, of decay.

Cat was glaring absolute murder at the back of the Steelheart as she passed by. 'Who in the Ministry could even _think_ to order _Vampires_ to look after children?' she spat vehemently.

 _Slap._

James started, jumping clear of his seat as a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ landed in front of him.

'Read that,' grumbled Clip, 'page three. You'll never guess.'

Cat snatched the paper up and began skimming the text avidly. James settled back into his seat, keeping a single eye on the Steelheart woman who was now bent over in deep conversation with Headmistress McGonagall.

'I knew it!' Cat shrieked right next to James' ear. 'Renshaw! It's her; I knew that she was evil!'

 _Senior Advisor Renshaw Receives Praise for Landmark Decision_

' _She_ did it!' Cat continued, caught between glowering at the back of the Steelheart and at the article in her hand. 'Of course she did. I'm writing to Mummy straight away.'

With that, she rose to leave, whirling around ferociously. Before stalking out of the Hall she paused, leaning down to speak only to James.

'They can't hurt you, you know, if you don't let them. In _here._ ' She drew her fingers in a soft caress across James' heart, and spun to leave without another word, leaving a very bewildered group of first-years behind.

Cassie sighed. 'Sometimes I wonder-'

'Don't,' warned Clip. 'It's not worth the headache.'

James laughed, perhaps a little too loudly. Things with Clip had been a little… tense since F.A.R.T club ended unsatisfactorily for him over a fortnight ago. He wasn't overtly hostile towards James, it was just that his usual open, amicable nature and willingness to ask for help with his spellwork had seemed to cool off markedly over the past two weeks. James had no clue how to even begin making it up to him.

Eventually, after her Ladyship Cassandra Featherstone deemed breakfast over with one final goblet of pumpkin juice and the daintiest nibble of a pastry, the group was allowed to get up and leave. They bid farewell to the rest of the group, leaving Fred joking about how he was going to pour his brand new Potent Pox Powder through James' sheets for knocking him off his broom, and Clip looking a little glum, but putting on a brave face about it.

One final glance over his shoulder told James that the Steelheart was still chatting to the Headmistress. As he looking, the hood turned to face him and he caught a glimpse of the sickeningly familiar swirling grey depths. The menacing golden eyes flickered to life from within, and something unseen grabbed him, locking him in place. Holly, who had been holding his hand, slipped through his grip as he hesitated, a cold sweat breaking out and running down the back of his neck.

Suddenly, a warmth blossomed somewhere off to his left, whatever had been holding him recoiled violently, and the Steelheart whipped her head away, returning to converse with a perplexed Headmistress McGonagall. James looked over, seeking out the source, and saw, seated alone now at the Slytherin table, Rain, gazing fixedly at him and… glowing slightly. Even as he looked, any trace of a shimmer winked out, and she returned to studying him with smoky eyes, twirling a single lock of hair playfully around one finger. James felt his stomach clench, and an all-too-familiar dizziness threaten to sneak up on his damaged defences.

He quickly turned and, like the bold Gryffindor he was, fled from the scrutiny of a diminutive little strawberry-blonde princess.

'So you have decided to join us,' Tristan joked, as James caught them up at the base of the Grand Staircase. 'The way you were ogling after that Steelheart I wasn't sure if you wanted to run from it or kiss it. I've seen father look the same way at the girls who work out back of Diagon Alley. No harm in it really; it's when _mother_ sees father looking like that when the _real_ trouble starts.'

'They give me the creeps,' James admitted. 'Those eyes, the way they look at you, it's… petrifying.'

Cassie huffed loudly. 'James Potter, it pains me deeply to admit this, but I rather admire your ability to see sense of most situations. However if you continue to make statements such as that, I shall be forced to reconsider.'

The group was laughing heartily as they ascended the stairs to the first floor landing, but their mirth was cut short as two figures emerged from a too-shadowy-to-be-natural doorway next to a painting of three witches attempting in vain to communicate with a frustrated mermaid.

'Left,' James grunted.

Almost everybody looked to their left, including Left himself, whom James finally realised probably possessed an actual moniker rather than simply a relative geographic position.

''Choo talking 'bout Potter? Come on in, boss would like to have a chat.'

Neither Wren nor Nero had made any attempt at contacting James or his group since the final F.A.R.T club, and that suited James just fine. He didn't want their promised money; he didn't want anything to do with those traitors. He sneered at Left, who laughed it off with a menacing crack of his knuckles. Right sneezed behind James, causing the four first-years all to jump, shattering any façade of toughness they had been hoping to carry in to the meeting.

They stepped through the swirling shadows encompassing the doorway and into an unused portrait room/ Dust was gathering thickly on the carpet, less than half of the slots were actually occupied by paintings, and many of them were in a sorry state indeed. Stacks of upturned and splintered desks resided in a far corner, lounging forlornly atop one another in a sorry tribute to forgotten days.

'Where is it?' barked a cutting voice, and James jumped once again as Nero stepped out of a seemingly innocuous shadow, proving that the appellation of 'Shade' was well and truly earned.

'Wh-what?' stammered James.

'You know what, Potter,' spat Wren from behind them, 'the Map. The pissing map that we spent seven years creating, the map that was layered with more magic than you will ever learn in your entire lifetime. Where. Is. It.'

The door slammed behind them and Left and Right joined them in the room, which all of a sudden seemed a lot smaller than it had only seconds before. With a growing sense of dread James saw wands drawn from both bodyguards, identical cruel grins distorting their blockish features.

'You saw James drop the map,' Tristan accused Left, 'I don't know how you expect that we would somehow now be in possession of it. Unless you thought we went back and combed that _entire valley_ for a single sheet of parchment. We'd still be down there now.

'If you wanted the damn map so badly then you should have sent one of the brains trust over here to go chasing after it.'

James' eyebrows had climbed to a precarious height up his forehead. This was a fire he had rarely seen from Tristan, talking down to the much older students like it was them who were in the wrong. He knew Aunt Hermione would scold him for thinking Hufflepuffs were timid. And he had heard several stories from his own father, and even from Professor Longbottom, about how fiercely Tristan's father, Ernie, had fought in the battle of Hogwarts. He supposed that he ought not to be so surprised that his son was cut from the same cloth.

'I can only assume that the loss of the map was reported immediately following the F.A.R.T club meeting, and that any subsequent searches conducted by yourselves have turned up fruitless,' Cassie added, her voice quavering only slightly. 'Otherwise, you would have accosted us directly prior to the culmination of the prize giving ceremony and forced us to return it. You knew all along that the Map was missing, why have you now decided to kidnap us and demand it's return as if we had been hiding it this entire time?'

James was well aware that he was letting his friends go in to bat for him in a big way, but he barely trusted himself to speak; Holly appeared the same. The truth of the matter was that he hadn't actually _got around_ to telling Cassie and Tristan about keeping the Map. It was easier for them to sell the misdirection if they didn't actually know that they were lying.

'Enough!' roared Wren. She shoved a desk angrily aside, and it slid across the floor to crash with remarkable force into the wall, splintering into a hail of shards. The first-years winced at the sound. 'I _know_ that Map is still around here somewhere. I can _feel_ it. I made it, there is a part of me in that map, a part of my magic. I couldn't sense a thing out in that damned valley, but here… here within the castle I can sense it. So, before I start to get _really_ angry, how about one of you come clean and tell me WHERE THE HELL IT IS?!'

The four first-years collectively took an involuntary step backwards under the strength of Wren's gaze. Her eyes were wide and bulging, lit with an incandescent rage. The sparse lighting in the room began to seem ineffectual, a sprawling maw of darkness stretching out, originating, it seemed, from Wren herself. The air grew frigid, James saw his breath misting in front of him. For a wild second he thought frantically of Dementors.

The figure before him did now seem somehow less human; she was exuding raw magical power in suffocating waves, rolling off of her body with an almost physical presence. James was fast seeing first-hand why this particular witch was considered the most formidable that Hogwarts had seen in years. She seemed to loom over them now, her tall frame no longer elegant, but menacing. Nero was laughing somewhere behind her, but the darkness was so complete that James couldn't make him out. The group huddled in together, Tristan drew his wand and made to cast a spell, but Wren batted it away with no more effort than a slash of her hand. She reached forwards and grabbed James, her hands closing like a vice around his upper arm, dragging him in to the centre of the room. Somebody screamed, but James couldn't tell who; his ears were filled with an intense rushing, drowning out every sound except for Wren's voice as she spoke, impossibly quiet.

'Tell me Potter, what happened to my Map? Why can I still feel it in the castle? I'll know if you're lying, believe me.'

James' mind was working frantically. How much time had passed since they were abducted? Surely someone would notice their absence soon; they were due to meet up with the Aurors in a half hour… A lot could happen inside of thirty minutes.

He jerked violently as he felt a presence… _inside_ him, within his very mind. Something, _someone_ was reading his thoughts! He squirmed and writhed in Wren's grasp, frantically trying to break free.

'What are you hiding Potter, I'll have your secrets.'

James caught Left and Right, from the corner of his eye, surrounding his friends, blocking them from coming to his aid. Tristan was pushing himself up from the floor, sporting a bloody nose, while Nero continued to laugh maniacally off to one side, every so often a cackle would break through whatever spell Wren was using to distort James' hearing, and it would send shivers down his spine anew.

The presence in his mind was still there, forceful, lumbering through his thoughts, but almost… clumsily. If Wren hadn't figured out that James still possessed the Map by now, maybe she wasn't able to.

'Where is the Map Potter?'

'In- argh! In the valley!'

'Lies!' she shook him – hard. 'I can tell when you're lying Potter. Tell me the truth!'

'I… I don't–' James stopped himself short of the lie, thinking quickly. If all she could do was tell that he was lying, then maybe there was a way to get out of this after all… 'There was someone – someone else in the Forest that day. Someone shot me down after I left the valley. They took my bag and my– I mean, they may have known, may have been looking for it. I don't know!'

'Someone else? Who? Who shot you down Potter, did you at least manage to get a look at them?'

'N-no,' James stammered. _Good,_ he thought, _keep her on this train of thought, distract her._

'Where were they hidden? Which way did they go? Tell me _everything_ Potter. Now!'

James did his best, recounting the tale under duress as accurately as he could, all the while sidestepping around actually committing to having any knowledge of the whereabouts of the Map.

At the end of his tale, Wren dropped him carelessly, letting him fall to the ground. He quickly got back up and dashed over to where his friends were huddled. Holly clutched his arm in a death-grip and refused to let go. Tears were brimming in the corner of her eyes which made James all the more furious at Wren and Nero. He swore to himself at that very moment, that he would get back at them, for everything that they had done this year, manipulating him and his friends, terrifying them, _using_ them like pawns in a game of Wizards' Chess. And it was all for nothing more than their own advancement, to make a bit of cash on the side and for Wren to show off her new toy. That made stealing it all the sweeter. That meeting was to be the last between the R.U.S.T sponsors and their young protégés, at least in the capacity of F.A.R.T club mentoring. It was the inception of a mutual enmity, a hatred that burned in James overshadowing anything petty he had ever felt towards Preston Lynch, or any of his ilk.

James vowed that their story would not end here, and so it would be true.

By the time the group arrived at the entrance to the eighth floor they were all thoroughly shaken. Cassie had pulled James aside and, quite alarmingly, hoisted him up against the wall demanding to know if he actually _had_ the bloody Map.

True to the theme of the day, he had told her that no, he did not. As it was currently in Holly's possession, stowed away in some secret hidey-hole within the Slytherin Common Room. He told her, entirely truthfully, that he had no idea where it was.

She had then proceeded to threaten him by saying that should she find out that he _is_ lying; she would jam her arm so far up his backside that she would be able to make him talk like a sock puppet. Something she had picked up from Professor Meadows evidently. The fact that it was coming from a diminutive little girl with short brown hair who stood no taller than James' chin seemed to make it all the more terrifying.

'We were beginning to wonder where you lot had got to!' barked Teddy jovially, swinging the door open to the eighth floor, revealing a nondescript corridor, buff flagstones layered with a thin film of grime, some spotty mould beginning to grow in patches on the ceiling. Torchlight was sparse, and flickered fitfully from the few filled brackets. If James didn't know any better he would have said that this was a corridor from deep within the dungeons.

James looked up to his would-be-brother with a grin, relieved to see a friendly face again. His smile was returned, but there was a certain tightness to it from Teddy. There were definite bags beneath his eyes, he clearly hadn't shaved in a few days, and his robes had clearly not been ironed or probably washed recently.

Behind him loomed a slender, whip-like figure enshrouded in a deep grey hood. A Steelheart.

Before Teddy could usher them in through the doorway, the cloaked figure barked a single, grunt-like syllable. All five of the group froze, and turned to face him. James gasped as a wand was produced, and spells were cast in a blanket over them all, in a rapid-fire, guttural language that James didn't recognise at all. The Steelheart seemed aggravated, on edge, like something was wrong. He kept pacing around the group, jabbing out occasionally with his dark, gnarled wand, grunting more and more aggressively. James felt a strange sensation like being dunked in a tepid pool, which immediately caused him to break out in goosebumps all over his body.

'That's enough,' Teddy warned eventually. 'There's nothing suspicious here, we were expecting them. Let us through.'

The Steelheart paused, glaring at Teddy from within that eyeless hood for a long moment. Eventually he gave a mocking bow, holding up a single hand as the group passed by, all five fingers held aloft.

'Five of us, I get it,' Teddy growled.

The answering noise that came from within the hood could only be called laughter, but it was the least funny thing that James had ever heard in his young life.

Finally they were allowed through, Cassie and Holly looking around in amazement at what would ordinarily be a very unremarkable corridor in the dungeons of Hogwarts.

Teddy pulled out a device that looked like Professor Meadows' Anchor, only a little smaller, and less intricately carved. He immediately directed them through a door on their left, which revealed a completely open bridge between two of the upper turrets of the castle, flimsy rope handrails on either side. Holly looked a little green as they trekked across it, and Cassie finally exploded with all of the questions she had clearly been building up since finding out they were allowed to be coming up here. Knowing her, she probably had a notebook tucked away somewhere with them all written down.

Teddy gave a valiant effort at answering them, as they wended their way upwards through the castle, and James thought he was very diplomatic in some of his responses to the more ridiculous questions.

Finally, they opened a door to a broad, high-ceilinged chamber with rich red tiles and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked more like it belonged in a palace than some forgotten corner of an ancient castle.

The first-years looked on at the gathered Aurors with no small measure of awe, staring openly as one came up to greet them.

'Jeez, Teddy, you don't look so good. Ever since them damn Lamp-heads came around. Glad you're not on my team today, eh?'

Teddy laughed and slapped his colleague on the back, a sandy-haired youth who looked to be in his late twenties, but again his smile faded quickly. Sensing something was going on beneath the surface, James sidled up to him.

'It's the Steelhearts,' Teddy admitted in response to James' unasked question. 'I was supposed to be the Head Delegate of the Junior Aurors here at the school, and we got broken into under my watch. Twice. Dad's trying to do everything he can, but there's apparently pressure from the Minister himself to relieve me of duties. That Renshaw wench is behind it evidently.

'They're trying to bust me back down to Trainee, James, or re-position me. Dad's fighting them with all he's got, so is Aunt Hermione, but they're fighting an uphill battle. Things at the Ministry have been a bit… sour lately, can't quite put my finger on it. Maybe it's the threat of danger has everyone running scared, not wanting to trust each other. That's exactly how it was last time… I dunno James.

'Either way, we are being relieved of duty here at the school, effective from today. I'll have to keep my head down back at the office, to be honest I'm not looking forward to going back at all. I dunno how I'll tell Zoe… she took it pretty hard when she got knocked out of the Auror program, still does. If that happens to me, too… I just dunno James.'

He trailed off into a melancholy silence, the air between them pregnant with unoffered condolences, words of support and hope that James couldn't manage to string together. He stared up at his almost-brother, trying to force it all into his eyes, to let him know that no matter what happened, that they would still practically be family, and that James wouldn't think any less of him.

Maybe it worked, because Teddy grabbed his shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. 'I know, buddy,' was all that he offered, but his smile lasted a little longer this time, and even reached as far as his eyes.

As the Aurors wrapped up their final preparations, Teddy split the four first-years up. Cassie and Holly insisted that it ought to be boys against girls. James and Tristan were on the defending team, which suited James just fine, as they would spend the most time closest to the Heart.

Teddy was to be the captain of the attacking team, and he called over his defending counterpart for a brief, private pre-match chat. Once they had finished, he stepped back to introduce her to James and Tristan, but stumbled over something unseen.

'Oh, shoot, sorry Cassandra, was that your foot?'

'Erm… I'm over here,' Cassie called.

Teddy tapped the floor looking for a crooked tile, but eventually shrugged it off as nothing and returned to the task at hand, uniting James and Tristan with their leader.

Auror Chelsea Gray was of a similar age to Teddy, but much, much tinier. She was almost as short as James and Tristan, and very slim. She had enormous, captivating, round, green eyes, heavily made-up with mascara, and a thin slash of a mouth that seemed permanently turned up in a crooked half-smile, like she was in on a joke that nobody else knew about.

James inwardly wondered how good somebody this tiny would actually _be_ in a fight.

'Welcome to the team boys, are you excited? I know I am!' She had a melodious, almost sing-song voice, which furthered James' assumptions that she wasn't much of a brawler.

The two boys nodded mutely, both transfixed by those wide eyes which were eagerly examining them, as if gauging their every response.

'So, I'm not sure what Teddy has told you, but here is how today is going to work, and it should be super-fun, I just can't wait!'

James idly wondered how someone this bubbly had made it so far through Auror training.

'It's super-simple stuff, so there are two teams of eight. Teddy's team who are trying to attack-' she even used air quotes around the word attack. James groaned inwardly. '-the Heart, and our _awesome_ team, who are going to stop them!'

James highly doubted that it was going to be that simple. He shared a sceptical look with Tristan as Auror Gray gathered the rest of the team around to talk about their plan of attack – or defence, as it were.

'Come on in guys, don't be shy! Ok, so here is my neat-o map that I drew before, showing the central chamber wherein the Heart lies. As you can see, there are four known entrances. Probably. You can never be too sure up here, it's super-confusing!'

James' curiosity was well and truly piqued when he saw the map; it was a crude sketch, and only contained a dozen corridors total, but he had thought something like that would have been impossible based on the chaotic and random nature of the eighth floor. Maybe the Heart was having an anchoring effect in some way, holding the corridors that gave access to it in place in a similar fashion to the Anchor that Professor Meadows had used.

'Anyway, I think a super-easy buddy system is the best way to do it! Everyone can pair up and Bind to their buddy. Decide among yourselves who will be the Defender and who the Scout. Scouts make sure to stay within Bond distance of your buddies, that will keep the immediate corridors locked down, you should be able to stretch it to a couple hundred yards, but _no farther._ If I hear of anyone going out of Bond distance and getting lost in this damn floor then I will personally ensure that that individual will be scrubbing the toilets in the Ministry Visitors' Entrance for a month.

If there are any breaches, then the access corridors themselves offer sufficient cover in the forms of those solid marble pillars. If that _does_ happen, as soon as you feel your Bond break, and if you see a concentrated force coalescing, send a Patronus out to the other teams with the details, and I'll send enough help to get you out of trouble.'

James was impressed; somewhere in between the "neat-o" and the "super-fun", Auror Gray had seamlessly flowed into a very formidable business-like mode. She spoke confidently and calmly, offering encouraging smiles to her nervous-looking Trainees. He started to feel like their chances weren't so doomed after all.

'It's standard procedure eight-seven-one for defending a location with multiple accesses, with the addendum that we will be operating on this gods-forsaken floor where everything changes the moment you stop looking. Am I understood? Good, Wilkins, I want you paired up with young Tristan here, you have the most experience. Potter is coming with me. Alright guys, the show starts in six minutes, get to your allocated positions and hold there. Any change of plans will come from my Patronus _only._ Am I clear?'

There was a chorus of 'Yes ma'am!' and the rest of the group trotted off, leaving only James and Auror Gray left in the corridor. She pushed open another side door which James was certain hadn't been there a minute ago, revealing one of the tiled marble accesses that he knew led directly into the Chamber holding the Heart.

The way the Aurors moved so confidently through the eighth floor was a mystery to James, it was like they had some secret information, like they were part of the Hundred, which obviously couldn't be true. Perhaps whatever it was that allowed the teachers to move with ease through the floor had somehow been temporarily transferred to the Aurors as well. Whatever it was, Auror Gray was not forthcoming with her secrets.

'Now James,' she said, turning around and crouching, only slightly, to get to his eye level. 'I am the team captain, so all of the communication will go through me. That means that I'll need to stay back here as a last line of defence, and to manage the troops, which means that you will need to be our Scout, are you ok with that?'

James nodded, a little nervously. A first-year running around in a mock-battle with trained Aurors? He was certain he wouldn't last five minutes. Three if he was unlucky. He sure hoped that Auror Gray was a bit more formidable than she looked.

'Excellent! James you will be super-fantastic I'm sure!' There it was again, the preteen excitement and naiveté that gave James all those worries in the first place.

'First we need to establish out Bond. It's a really simple spell, I'll show you. Really handy if you are ever out and about in the dark particularly, and don't want to get separated from a group. _Duoligo_ is the incantation. It creates a magical binding between us that only we can see, but it will stretch a certain distance, depending on the strength of our collective magics, usually it is a couple of hundred metres.'

She showed James the wand movements, and stood back, arms spread wide as he cast the spell on her, aiming square in the middle of her chest. He saw her give a little start, and James let out a little yelp, as he felt an invisible belt tighten itself comfortably about his midriff.

It was one of the oddest sensations James had ever felt, like having an extra appendage growing right out of his chest. It felt completely natural, the faintly shimmering blue-green light that stretched the short distance between them. It was as if it were a part of him, just as his arms and legs were. He felt no impediment to his movement, and as he spun around in wonder he watched the Bond rotate, always staying on the side of his body closest to Auror Gray.

'Impressive, no?' She asked with a wide smile. She checked her watch quickly. 'Now James, what spells do you know that might be of help for duelling? I need to know what we are working with, so I can plan accordingly.'

James rattled off his meagre list of duelling spells: body-bind, leg-locker, trip jinx, the _Imminuum_ counter-jinx, and a few others. A little sheepish, and well aware that it would pale in comparison to the list used by the Aurors.

'Way to go Jamesy!' Auror Gray whooped, 'I should have known Harry Potter's son would be top of the class in defensive magic. That's a super-neat list for a first-year, I think we're going to do just fine! Reckon we might even have this one in the bag!'

Even though James knew that this was all part of her Captain act, buoying the troops, and raising morale, he couldn't help puffing his chest out proudly, a smug little smile appearing on his face.

'Ok Jamesy, we're about to start. Stick within a couple corridors of the entrance back to this point, the Bond should hold for that distance, and it will keep the castle from changing underneath us; you should be able to find your way back here easy enough if need be. If you get into trouble, I'll know through the Bond, but I'm sure you'll be super-fine! Give 'em hell buddy!'

With that he earned a firm shove in the back, and a reverberating clap echoed throughout the corridor, signalling the start of the exercise. With a last wistful look back at the entrance to the Heart Chamber, and a feeling that he was running in entirely the wrong direction, James took off at a slow jog down to the door through which they had entered.

Game on.

When he opened the door he found himself in an entirely different location from the room that they had entered through. He paused for a second, concern creeping in, and shot a look back at Auror Chambers, who was already speaking a frantic message to a very excitable golden retriever Patronus. She nodded encouragingly, and shooed him wordlessly with her wand-hand.

James trotted out into an eerily quiet corridor, another dungeon-themed one, it seemed to be the flavour of the day. This one was much deeper, much more abandoned than the last. Verdant slime was growing in gashes on the walls, the steady drip of water sounding somewhere up ahead. The tiles underfoot were uneven and poorly set, corners jutting up looking eagerly to snag the toes of an unwitting traveller. Sconces lined the walls, now all empty, a single shattered pedestal tumbling forth from one to James' left, whatever antiquity it may once have held long since driven into the thin layer of wet dust coating the flagstones.

He decided right was a good a direction as any; he had surely had enough of Left to last him a lifetime. He made his way in that direction, wand held aloft, muttering ' _Lumos'_ to better light his path. His footsteps echoed loudly, thrumming in time with the steady _drip, drip, drip_ of water.

He turned right at the first junction, looking back to ensure he knew the location of the door back to the access corridor, and to make sure his Bond to Chelsea was still intact. The eerie dampness continued down this corridor as well, an exact mirror image of the previous one, down to the fallen pedestal three sconces up the hallway on his left.

Yet another unnerving curio thrown up by the eighth floor.

He tried tip-toeing this time, to silence the sound of his footfalls. He paused at the sconce with the shattered pedestal, crouching down behind the meagre cover to listen for the sound of any assailants approaching.

 _Drip, drip, drip._

By the time he reached the end of this corridor, he felt the Bond beginning to strain, and decided it best to turn back. He jogged down the corridor, turning the corner to head back towards the Heart.

And froze; there were two figures between him and the access doorway. _How had they managed to get in behind him?_ He swore under his breath as they approached the access door. He couldn't make out who they were exactly, but one was very tall, the other very short, probably Cassie. Which meant the other might be Teddy.

He waited out of sight, his heart in his throat as the two approached the door. He hoped to Merlin that Chelsea was ready in there, he tried to send a sense of urgency as best he could through the Bond, but had no idea how to even begin doing so. He figured he would strike as soon as they reached for the door, he would go for 'Teddy' and Chelsea would hopefully be quick enough to nab the one he had pegged as Cassie.

The Teddy figure was crouched slightly, neck craning to look around in every direction, but mercifully not backwards. As he bent to inspect the fallen pedestal, Cassie reached out and grabbed the handle of the door to the access. The noise alerted Teddy and he spun around frantically, the beginnings of a warning shout on his lips. James was never going to get a better chance than this to take the shot, he stepped out from his cover and raised his wand confidently.

' _Petrificus totalus!'_

A large number of things happened all at once. Cassie threw open the door triumphantly, only to be greeted by what James could only describe as a rush of pure golden magic, the height of the entire corridor, which slammed into her with full force. She had time to give only the tiniest of whimpers before collapsing to the ground in a heap, her body now a pure golden statue, glowing warmly in the flickering torchlight.

 _That looks painful_ , James thought with a touch of sympathy. Only a touch though; she _had_ threatened to do some very unspeakable things to him not two hours ago.

James' spell, which looked like it was a dead-set hit on Teddy, fizzled out all of a sudden in mid-air, connecting with some invisible barrier. A shield spell Teddy had hastily erected? That would have been the fastest non-verbal wandwork James had ever seen. He couldn't afford to let his awe get the better of him, as he was clearly well overmatched. He fired off another body-bind, which Teddy ducked under, gaining cover inside one of the abandoned sconces. James cursed, he had missed his surprise attack. If only Chelsea's booby-trapped door had stunned Teddy instead of Cassie.

A barrage of spellfire roared in James' direction, and he threw himself sideways into his own alcove, huddling into the wall as best he could, and slashing at one of the spells with a desperate cry of ' _Imminuum!'_ His defensive effort proved true, and the spell flared out either side of him with a _whoosh_ , leaving scorch-marks on the wall.

James dared only stick his wand arm out the alcove, firing his own salvo of Hexes and Jinxes at Teddy. He heard a yelp, followed by a laugh, and, throwing caution to the wind, poked his head out to see Teddy writhing on the floor laughing, having been collected by a lucky shot. Triumph roared in James' chest, for all of a half-second until a second pair rounded the corner behind Teddy. Another pair of attackers. They quickly dispelled the Hex from their downed captain, and looked over to Cassie, but there was apparently nothing that they could do for her right now.

The three advanced on James, looking to make short work of him. His fight was over, and he knew it. He was exposed, having stepped out thinking to finish off Teddy, three grown-up Aurors against a single, terrified first-year. Teddy raised his wand, an apologetic smile appearing on his face–

Just as Chelsea Gray burst from the access corridor, her wand ablaze. She felled one of the Trainees instantly, before engaging the other in a duel. Teddy spun with a cry, and all of a sudden she was duelling two-against one. James fired off a leg locker from behind, and connected with the other Trainee. James yelped in delight for being helpful. Somehow, in the midst of the intense fighting, Auror Gray managed to shoot off a _Patronus_ to send for reinforcements, in between felling the Locked Trainee who gave off a discomforting gurgle as he tumbled to the ground, and knocked Teddy back three steps under a hail of fire.

All of James' earlier doubts were evaporating as he watched his tiny captain spin, duck, even _jump off the walls_ to dodge the incoming fire from Teddy, all the while giving back easily as good as she received. She was a blur of motion, turning their duel into a dance, her cloak whipping out gracefully about her. James watched in awe as she easily ducked under a clumsy shot from Teddy, pirouetted on the spot with a gleeful 'Wheee' and fired three spells back in under a second. One of which Teddy almost managed to deflect into James himself.

Pushing himself up off the ground James raised his wand to help, but a scuffling from behind alerted him to the presence of two more attackers coming his way. He swore under his breath. If he didn't stop them breaking through they would surely be able to come to Teddy's aid and overpower his captain, ceding victory to the attackers as there was nothing else between them and the Heart. _Where was the bloody backup?_

He recognised Holly bearing down on him alongside her buddy, a gracile young woman wrapped head-to-toe in loose black silk. He swallowed hard, and heard Holly's laugh barrel down the corridor.

'Fancy seeing you here!' she called.

Her Auror buddy wasted no time mincing words, a half-dozen spells were already on their way, and James had lost sight of her altogether in his panic. He ducked and rolled frantically, but something clipped his foot, sending a jolt of electric energy through his body. He made to stand up, but stumbled. His foot was rooted to the ground, quite literally. Tiny wooden tendrils were slowly snaking their way up from the stony floor, ensnaring his trainer.

Mercifully his stumble had caused a spell from Holly to fly over his head, but as he got up, he sensed a presence behind him and turned to see the black-clad witch appear mere inches from him.

 _How in Merlin's name had she done that?_

She didn't even have time to cast a spell, though, as a side door appeared and slammed open that very instant, spewing Tristan and Auror Wilkins into the corridor. Tristan gave a roar and barrelled into James' assailant, knocking her to the floor with a copybook rugby tackle. Wilkins shot something at Holly that sent her squealing and running for cover, then turned to the ugly brawl between Tristan and the Auror taking place on the floor.

All the while the roots kept climbing slowly up James' calf, frustratingly resistant to any fire or cutting charms he sent their way.

Tristan let out a squeal, and was blasted off of the enshrouded witch, careening through the air and landing solidly next to James, unmoving. Wilkins cursed, and all of a sudden was locked in a furious duel with the witch, both stepping around Tristan's unconscious form on the floor.

Behind him, James saw Chelsea and Teddy still locked in their captivating dance, on an entirely different level from the rest of the duellers. Another pair had shown up from both teams, so the lines of battle were now three against three, but the others were merely playing a sideshow to the main event, the two team captains whirling, darting and Jinxing their way through a beautiful and elaborate, almost choreographed sequence of moves.

Holly had regained her feet now, and was advancing on James. It appeared that he would be getting no help from his otherwise-occupied teammates, and so he was forced to fight with almost an entire leg rooted to the ground. The wood was unnaturally tough, and beginning to squeeze his thigh quite forcefully. He awkwardly ducked a body-bind from Holly, and sent back a Tickling Jinx in retaliation, which she easily dissipated with _Imminuum._

She had the advantage of mobility, and cover, which she sought every time James fired a salvo of spells her way. The roots were nearly at his waist now, creeping uncomfortably down his other leg. He was basically a sitting duck. Wilkins was still duelling his opponent, ceding more and more ground to her as she appeared to be in several places at once.

He glanced over his shoulder in time to see Chelsea now the only one standing against three attackers, her teammates lying prone at her feet. Even as James watched, she felled one with a cry, but Teddy managed to use the distraction to sneak beneath her guard, he had a clear shot, but as he stood up to take it, _something_ seemed to hit him, a spell from some unknown source, some accidental crossfire perhaps? He missed his opportunity, and staggered several steps looking completely dazed for a long while, until a stunner whizzed past his face and he seemed to jump back to life, a little stiffer in his movements now.

Eventually sheer numbers wore Chelsea down, and Teddy was able to land a direct hit as she cartwheeled acrobatically away from an orange jet of light. He hit her square in the face with an unfamiliar purple spell, causing her to stagger, tumbling to the floor in a heap, her hands instantly thrown up to protect her.

'Teddy I _hate_ you!' she cried out in frustration.

James wondered why no one was doing anything, until with a faint _pop_ Chelsea ballooned out to at least six times her original size. Her hands were too swollen to hold her wand, which fell to the floor uselessly, as she grew like a large balloon. James couldn't help but let out a bark of laughter as she began to float gently towards the ceiling.

'You _know_ I hate how this makes me look!' Chelsea wailed.

Teddy just laughed and raised his wand. ' _Flipendo!'_ he cried, and sent her careening off down the corridor, bouncing off the walls as she went with screams of equal parts anger and despair.

Another group of defenders appeared to face Teddy and his counterpart, but James knew the fight was basically over now, no one could stand up to Teddy's prowess now that Chelsea was out of the fight. He turned back to matters at hand, now completely devoid of the use of his legs. Holly had been hiding in one of the alcoves, ducking from a few errant spells flung her way by Wilkins, but now she stepped out again. Her mouth was turned up in a small smile, her cheeks flushed with a healthy glow. Her braid was snarled and tangled, several strands hanging loose around her face, and her wand was out. James fired off a desperation barrage of spells, anticipating the way she would dodge, and somehow managed to clip her with a Tickling Jinx. She staggered, gasping for air as laughter racked her body. A seed of hope blossomed in James as he lined up for the final blow.

'Just kidding,' she said, standing upright, all laughter dying away instantly. And in those two words James saw his defeat.

She hit him with a Full Body-Bind, square in the chest. His arms snapped to his sides, his wand clattering to the floor. The roots, sensing victory, redoubled their efforts in encasing him, and by the time Holly was abreast with him, only his head was free.

He could move only his eyes, and tried to force all of the anger and indignation that he could into them. But now that the plant was near his face, he found it was giving off a very heady aroma, something that was making him more than a little sleepy. He fought to keep his eyes open as Holly laughed, saying something that he was too groggy to make out. His eyelids were so heavy, the last thing he felt was something soft and warm, and a little wet press against his cheek, the brief smell of perfume mingled with sweat, and then he knew no more, the vines completing their work, encasing his entire body.

He awoke to the sound of laughter, sitting up on a makeshift cot laid out for him in one of the access corridors where the Aurors were gathered. Cassie was sitting up next to him, an uncomfortable look on her face as she moved sluggish limbs slowly and painfully. James was glad that it hadn't been him walking into that spell. Tristan was sat on his other side, a roguish grin on his face. He gave James an apologetic shrug, which all but confirmed his assumptions.

Holly appearing next, and looking like the _smuggest creature on the entire planet_ was the nail in the coffin. James groaned as she sat down on the cot next to him, a cup of steaming hot chocolate in one hand and giggling quietly.

They sat like that for a while, each recounting their own stories of the fight, Cassie's disappointingly short, Holly's annoying self-satisfied, particularly the part where she managed to sneak past the last defenders while they were engaged in a duel and make it to the door to the Heart. James groaned again, he was going to be hearing about this one for _weeks._

As the conversations shifted and broke up, James found himself staring longingly at the very same door to the Heart, more than a little disappointed that he hadn't actually got to go in there. As Teddy was being assaulted by a deflated and very irate Chelsea with a cushion she had produced from somewhere, he pushed himself upright on unsteady legs and slunk down towards the door, trying to make himself as innocuous as possible as he did so.

The Pull was still there, that feeling that the Heart gave him, urging him to come closer, to step within, the feeling on incompleteness that he knew he would be able to fulfil, should he be allowed. Something was off-kilter with it this time, though. It wasn't the same longing for James' presence. He didn't know how he could tell, but he knew that it felt more frantic this time, a little more desperate, a little more forceful than simple longing. As he came within an arm's reach the faintest sound began to ring in his ears, like a thousand whispers all around him. He couldn't make out a single word, but something about them spoke of the same longing.

Every so often a cry would ring out, all but masked, and quickly covered up by an increase in the whisper-like noises. The cry was one of futile desperation, a strangled death-knell of something or some _one_ reaching through to him.

' _Potter.'_

The single word startled him, cutting so cleanly through the whispers. He knew that it was not of this world, that no one had yet seen him sneak off down here.

' _Come.'_

He reached out, why wouldn't he? Faint traces of silver-and-purple criss-crossed the doorway, reminiscent of the sickly fever that had overtaken the Heart from their last visit. He reached out to touch one, the stone seeming bubbled and warped around the thin trace of colour.

As soon as his fingers made contact with the stone, he felt a jerking sensation throughout his whole body, and darkness blossomed, enveloping him completely.

He looked around him frantically, but it seemed to make no difference. He felt disembodied, detached, like he had to head to turn, no eyes to see. The whispers were still there, but they were coming in waves now, offering forth with each crest, not _words,_ exactly, but the suggestion of words, images, feelings and emotions that James was somehow able to translate.

' _Siege.'_

' _Sickness.'_

' _Magic… fading.'_

' _Help.'_

The words were scaring James, he tried to call out, but his voice made no sound. He looked down where his body should have been but saw nothing, only an empty, starry void over which he was seeming to _float._

' _Alien power.'_

' _Not…. Of this world.'_

' _Make… peace...'_

With that final statement, the darkness receded instantly, and James found himself back in his own body, standing with a hand outstretched, still in contact with the door. For the briefest of seconds the silver-purple traces of sickness flared bright, and then he was ejected, thrown backwards up the corridor, landing hard on unforgiving flagstones.

The noise alerted the group, who rushed over to help him. He pushed himself up, insisting that he was fine. Cassie did a lot of tutting, and Teddy reprimanded him perhaps a little _too_ sternly for straying away from the group, but James' mind was well and truly elsewhere.

They spend the remainder of the day learning spells and tricks of duelling with the Aurors. Cassie filled two whole notebooks, and Holly looked like she was having the time of her life, but James wasn't able to fully enjoy it, his mind was playing back those sentences over and over again, desperate not to lose them, forget them. Waiting for the opportunity to get some alone time with his friends and divulge the terror which he had just witnessed.

The Heart of Hogwarts was under attack.


	23. Chapter 23

The excitement of the Auror training session was slow to evaporate in the following days, as the four who had gone along took great joy in recounting every event of the battle, every spell that was cast. The duel between Teddy and Chelsea was fast becoming the stuff of schoolyard legend, with only the most reverent of voices reserved for its telling. By now the entirety of the first year had heard one retelling or another, many of which made their way back to James and the group more grossly inflated than Chelsea had been at the end of the duel.

The current most popular version among the students was that somehow there had been a hippogriff involved, which had trampled Chelsea, and rampaged through the rest of the Aurors, who had been helpless to stop it. That was why they had been removed from their post as defenders of the school, and replaced with the Steelhearts, who would have never let such an event occur.

The departure of the Aurors had left a bitter taste in many a mouth around the castle. James for one had been upset to see Teddy leave; he had enjoyed having a friendly face around the castle, it lent a feeling of safety and security which he didn't fully appreciated until he had departed. Sure, the Steelhearts were menacing enough, but he had felt like the Aurors had actually been there to look after the kids, it was more than just a contract to them. After seeing Teddy duelling up on the eighth floor with such commanding prowess, James couldn't see how the Ministry could even think of standing him down.

But eleven year old boys were not to worry about the upper machinations of the Ministry of Magic, Teddy had assured him. He had left the day following the mock-battle, and had seemed a little awkward and off-kilter when saying his goodbyes. He said he was going to take some time off, rather than return immediately to the office, perhaps do some travelling for the rest of the school year, and meet James back home when the term ended. It seemed an odd decision, and one that came somewhat out of the blue. He had obviously not discussed it with Zoe prior to leaving, and she had looked on the verge of tears as he waved an awkward goodbye to the small gathered group in the Entrance Hall.

Professor Meadows barely stayed to watch Teddy leave, whirling around and stalking up the stairs towards her office, shoulders slumped, mascara beginning to track forlorn paths down her rosy cheeks.

James had watched her leave, wondering what it meant for her and Teddy; and if they would still be together come the summer.

And so the first-years were sitting in the corner of a large study room, overseen by a single of the ever-present Steelhearts, ostensibly studying, but James had let Cassie break off the furious revision for a short period of time so they could discuss what James had 'heard' when he had touched the door to the Heart.

Rain had evidently deemed their group worthy of her lofty presence, and had meandered over just as James had begun telling his story. She had been spending less and less time with them of late, and had been drifting away from her once-best-friend Cassie; the two were no longer seen walking through the corridors arm-in-arm sharing one of their many secret jokes or conversations.

James was a little worried about that, particularly for Cassie who wasn't exactly the most… overtly friendly type from time to time. Most of the time, he corrected himself. Between her strong opinions, her strict insistence on adherence to rules, and slightly skewed view on what most other first-years saw as _fun_ , James was aware that she hadn't exactly been a crowd favourite among their peers. He made a mental note to talk to Rain about whatever the hell was going on with her and those Slytherins she kept hanging out with lately.

His mind had been free to wander as he recounted the events with the Heart, as he had rehearsed this conversation at least three hundred times in the few days since its occurrence. He looked up to see seven almost identical wide-eyed expressions peering back at him, speech proving temporarily elusive. He had been whispering, so as not to be overheard, and the entire group was huddled tightly around in a circle on the floor. James awkwardly toyed with the thick plush carpet, waiting for his friends to gather their wits and come up with a response.

'So it… _spoke_ to you?' Fred asked, his tone awed.

James nodded, hoping that the rest of the group would be able to come up with something a little more insightful than that; he wanted to figure out what the heck was going on, and what they should _do_ about it.

'Where exactly did you _go?'_ Cat, who was seated on James' left, was leaning in so far her cheek was brushing James' own. James could practically feel the burning curiosity rolling off of her in waves, and the light in her pale blue eyes was bordering on fervent.

'I wish I knew, it was sort of all dark… Like, darker than anything I've ever seen before. It was more than just the absence of light, it was as if everything was Darkness, and the world had forgotten what light even _was_ …'

'Or never knew it in the first place,' breathed Cat.

'Exactly!' James cried, caught up in his description. He closed his eyes as he continued, trying to envisage what it was he had seen. There had been something else there… 'Stars! But there _was_ light, when I looked a little harder, I could see them, tiny stars, hundreds of them, thousands maybe. They were all so far away, but I felt like if I wanted, I could just reach out and touch one. Some glowed brighter than others, but all were the same distance away. I- I don't know how I know that, I just do.'

'Sounds kinda like Space,' Clip offered, a perplexed frown crinkling his brow. He was tapping his chin idly with a quill, as if he had been taking notes throughout James' speech. As James watched the feathery tip tickled him beneath the nose, setting him off into a string of quite dainty little sneezes.

'You should go talk to Professor Oakby,' Fred grinned, 'I bet that'd get you an 'O' in her class all the way through until at least fifth year. The old dear would do her nut if she found out you were actually _up there_ with all the stars.'

'It can't have been space, though,' Clip retorted, 'you can't just _go into_ space; you can't breathe up there, there's no air. Every muggle science book I ever read says that.'

'Bet your muggle science books said you can't do _this_ , either,' laughed Fred, whipping out his wand and deftly levitating the quill from Clip's hand.

'I think we would have noticed if James somehow disappeared to _space.'_ That from Holly, who had been quiet so far. 'I mean, I don't think I ever heard or saw you actually disappear, and you can't Apparate in or out of Hogwarts, so it can't have been that.'

'Dumbledore could…' James said distractedly, recalling several insane stories that his father had told him. Although, now he actually thought about it, his own first year had been something to rival that of his father's in terms of insanity.

'So now you're Dumbledore?' Fred laughed outright. 'This is excellent; grandad and grandma Weasley will be chuffed! All they ever talk about is the mad stuff he used to get up to.'

Cassie, who had been silent this entire time, looked as if she were finally about to weigh in, something James was eager to hear, but Cat got there a half second before her, and really managed to turn the whole scenario on its head.

'Well, I think _I_ know what it was, James,' she said confidently.

Cassie visibly deflated, and behind Cat, Clip pushed his head into a spare pillow which he had been leaning on, exasperated. James nodded for her to continue, albeit with a growing sense of trepidation.

'I think what you entered was the Echo, or the Void, of the Heart. Objects like the Heart, incredibly powerful magical artefacts, they leave an imprint upon the fabric of magic itself, the weave that is intertwined with every natural, elemental force on the planet. Such large concentrations aren't inherently natural themselves, and so they distort the Flow of magic around themselves, turning it in on itself, inverting it and forcing it into a higher dimension, if you will.

'Think of an ant, crawling around on the outside of an orange. The Echo is the core of that orange, the juicy, ripe flesh. Us, and our world, however, only exists _outside_ of the orange, and so we are only the ant, running around on the surface, with no way of getting through into the Echo dimension under any normal circumstances.'

'What the–' Fred countered, intelligently.

'Sound a lot like muggle science,' Clip mused.

'Muggle science _fiction,_ perhaps,' snapped Cassie. 'I have read loads of books on magical theory, Kattala, and not _once_ have I come across any mention of an Echo. Let me guess, this is another of your Mothers great theories?'

'Yes, actually,' Cat shot back. She had hunched her shoulders, and crossed her arms, which she often did when defending her mother's pride from the hordes of sceptics. Most of whom were named Cassandra or Clip. 'That was what she was _actually_ doing all those years when we were in Scandinavia, trekking about digging up ancient Nordic sites of ritual magic. They often invoked some very powerful spells in the name of their Gods. Mother was studying what lasting effects that they had on the magic of the area.'

'I thought you were looking at wildlife?' Clip asked.

'Yes, that's the best way to do it, the magical wildlife of the area will be, in part, made up of magic itself, which is what gives them the special properties. Magical Fabric, or magic in its raw form, is incredibly difficult to interact with, but magical creatures at birth are each briefly linked to the Fabric, for a fraction of a second the magic flows into them, _through_ them. And it leaves its imprint. That imprint never changes, so you can see the state of the Magical Fabric, or Flux at the moment that animal was born. The fact that magical animals are notoriously long-lived, has meant that Mummy was able to gather data for a time period of almost three hundred years about the Fabric in that area. She's been busy going over it every day since we returned. Hopefully someday soon she'll be able to interpret it well enough to publish her findings. It might just change the theory of Magic as we know it.'

'Bloody hell.' Fred aptly summed up what every one of those gathered around the circle was likely thinking.

'I was under the impression that Clip and Cassandra were supposed to be the clever ones,' Tristan said, 'but going purely off of a words-per-minute-that-I-didn't-understand basis, I think we have a new Queen of the Nerds.'

Cassie, and to a lesser extent Clip, both looked highly affronted at this bold statement, Cat's cheeks flushed a brilliant carmine and she dipped her head, the smallest of smiles on her face. James knew how much it meant to her when someone actually accepted one of her mother's theories.

'Regardless of this… theory,' Cassie huffed, 'I don't think it's important right now anyway. Whether or not James was sucked into outer space or some higher, magical dimension, we neither know how to do it again with any measure of safety, nor know what we would actually gain should we manage it.

'What I was _originally_ going to say was that the words used when the Heart communicated with you James, got me curious. By definition a siege is a military operation in which enemy forces surround a town or building, cutting off essential supplies, with the aim of compelling those inside to surrender. I wonder if firstly, those silver-purple veins of "sickness" aren't what the Heart is referencing here, secondly if that is indeed true, then what supplies are they cutting off? The only logical explanation that I can think of is that they are cutting off the supply of magic to the Heart, and that is why the Aurors could move about the eighth floor with such surety near the Heart itself. The attacking team didn't once use an Anchor of any kind like you mentioned Professor Meadows using, or even of the style Teddy used in guiding us up there. Thirdly, and most worriedly, is that something of this magnitude would surely be outrageously difficult to organise from the exterior, so the most likely scenario is that somebody is laying siege to the Heart from within Hogwarts itself.'

The group sat for a while in shocked silence at that revelation. It was exactly what James had been waiting for; Cassie or Clip sinking their far superior brains into the task and figuring out what in Godric's name was actually going on. James didn't know why, but he had found himself nodding along to everything Cassie had said; it all seemed to fit so _naturally_ for him, like it was an explanation equal parts insanely terrifying and flawlessly administered. A plan crazy enough that it may have actually been working.

His father's voice rang loudly in his ears then: _Trust in your instincts_ , he would say to James. Adding that his own had saved him many times in the past. Something about this explanation just _felt_ right, James wondered if the Heart itself wasn't somehow sending him a message, allowing him the clarity to see the truth of the situation before him.

'That's ridiculous, surely,' Rain laughed derisively. 'No one could be doing all of that from _within_ the castle. Magic of that calibre would be noticed immediately. First of all, students aren't allowed to just walk up to the Heart and toy with it, and secondly, I bet nobody in this castle would even be _capable_ of managing something like that!'

All of a sudden James was struck with an epiphany, a chorus of images – no, the same image – simply repeated over and over in his mind, a hundred times a second. A conversation he had had in a cramped closet months ago with a domineering young witch who some touted as the greatest of her generation. A witch who had been explaining – no, bragging – about how she alone had been _permitted to conduct experimental work on the Heart_.

'Wren!' James cried aloud. 'The Enchantress! It's her; remember, she told us one of the first times that we met her. She said she had been allowed to do work on the Heart, and that was how she had managed to create the Map. What if she was able to do something extra as well? You guys saw what she could do when they cornered us the other day. All that without even a wand in hand! The stories about her must be at least _mostly_ true. What if she secretly _is_ as powerful as Dumbledore? Or… or _Voldemort?'_

Silence was the only answer James received. Rain was nodding her head encouragingly, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow and a small, secret smile turning up the corners of her mouth. She shot James a very private look that made him sway on the spot a little, her sea-green eyes making contact with his own through her perfectly curled lashes. He felt a sense of approval rolling off of her for some reason. As soon as she looked away – shyly down at her knees – the feeling was gone.

'And… and most of the attacks have happened outside of school time, haven't they?' James continued, words coming to him as they popped into his brain. 'All of the fighting and criminals that the Aurors have caught have been the wrong ones. What if she is sneaking out during the holidays to do it, and then coming back here to work on the main project, taking over the Heart? She said she's been working on the Map for almost seven years, what if she's been trying to get to the Heart for all that time too?'

The stunned silence drew out each second, seemingly lengthier than the last.

'Now there's been a lot of stuff said in the last few minutes that I haven't understood,' Tristan eventually said to the group at large, 'but it sounds to me like the one thing we ought to do now is tell someone; a teacher, Professor Meadows maybe, or Headmistress McGonagall even. I think the Headmistress should know about it James, particularly what you saw at the Heart. She has a soft spot for you and Freddy. The way she looks at you two, it's like you are her _own_ grandchildren. Or great-great-great-greeeeeat grandchildren more like it. I think you two should go tell her.'

James mulled it over. Fred was looking a little terrified at the prospect of confronting the stern Headmistress with a story that sounded not too far off of insane. If they did tell the Headmistress, then the problem would be out of their hands, the responsibility would no longer be theirs. If it had ever been theirs to begin with. She would almost certainly not believe James about Wren, but maybe he could plant enough seeds, drop enough hints at it for her to join the dots. She _had_ taught his father after all, she had seemed almost disappointed that it had taken the pair of them most of the year to get themselves into the thick of a dangerous mystery the last time she had spoken to them.

But on the other hand… his father had _stolen the Philosopher's Stone from Voldemort_ in his own first year. Could a Potter truly just hand off the responsibility in a situation like this? Was it not in his very blood to go and try save the day himself?

 _This is what got us into trouble in the first place._ A voice drifted up from the back of his mind, unbidden. It spoke truth; this lust for glory, this desire to outshine his father, to step beyond his shadow, had run him into trouble before. It was how he got people hurt in the past, and could do so again.

He looked around at the circle of his friends, their faces all turned towards him expectantly. They were his lifeblood here, they were the reason that he had made it through this year in one piece. Without them he wouldn't have been able to face down the Lenders, or R.U.S.T, he wouldn't have been able to deal with Preston Lynch and his constant, nagging barbs thrown his way each and every day.

His mind was made up then and there, it was an easy decision, really. He was going to go to the Headmistress, that very evening following dinner. There was no way he'd allow his friends to come to harm again from his own desire for glory.

'We'll go,' he said resolutely, to Fred. 'Tonight, after dinner.'

Fred squared his jaw and nodded once. The others eagerly joined in. The group had spoken; James had made a decision with all of them, together. No-one was getting left out or hurt. He felt a warm, joyful feeling filling his chest, something that felt a lot like hope.

'Dinner's started!' Fred suddenly announced to the group. His stomach had an uncanny knack for knowing when precisely meal times were running.

The group began to pack up their books, James principal among them. Solving mysteries worked up quite an appetite.

As they collectively made their way down the Grand Staircase towards the Great Hall, James saw Cassie sidle up to Cat, and slide an arm around her waist, although their impressive height difference meant it ended up more around her bottom. 'Do you mind telling me more about that theory of your mother's?' Cassie asked. James beamed; even Cat and Cassie were getting on; life was good.

It took James fewer than a dozen steps into the Great Hall to realise that something was amiss. The House tables were filled to bursting; the eight had trouble squeezing in on the far end of the Gryffindor table. Despite the packed nature of the Hall, conversation was at an all-time low. Barely a dull murmur rose above the crackling of the fires in their hearths. The teachers, too, were heavily subdued. Carafes of wine stood untouched, every single member of the faculty seemed to be gazing down at their plates, trapped in some inward-facing monologue, exuding melancholy and despair in waves.

Headmistress McGonagall had her head in her hands, and for once her proud, pointed witches had was cast off, laying discarded atop her empty plate. James' heart began to quicken. If anything, he would say she looked almost broken. What had happened that they had missed tucked away in their study room? Had there been another break-in? An attack, perhaps? Founders forbid, a casualty?

He looked around, trying to spot familiar faces, as if he could recall every single one of the thousand-odd students within Hogwarts' halls. He noticed, suddenly, that there were Steelhearts in the hall. Not just in the hall, but _everywhere._ There were a dozen of them behind the staff table alone, and at least a score more scattered strategically throughout the room, effectively quashing the conversation.

Eventually, as the last student hurried in through the doors, they swung shut of their own accord, slamming closed with a thunderous crash. A half dozen more Steelhearts made their way into the room and stood flanking the doorway, their hoods still shrouded in darkness. James was beginning to get a very bad feeling about what was going on. Whispers began to build up around the room, gaining in pitch and intensity, until the Headmistress finally stood up from her seat. Silence instantly descended.

'Good evening, students.' McGonagall looked defeated. She stood slightly hunched over the podium, clutching it as if it were the only thing holding her upright. Her severe bun was marred by scores of flyaway strands, and even from the distance, James could see dark rings beneath her eyes. Her aged features looked haggard, instead of regal. She was a picture of resignation. 'As I am sure you are all aware, there have recently been multiple breaches of the school's defences. With a suspected highly dangerous witch or wizard on the loose, this has been deemed unacceptable by the Ministry. As a result, the level of security has been stepped up to incorporate Madam Renshaw's Steelheart unit.'

She paused here to gesture vaguely around the room, not even bothering to look up from the podium. None of the Steelhearts gave any sign of recognition.

'The Ministry, however, has decided that this single measure alone is insufficient, and so…' she paused here. James leaned in subconsciously, a lead weight already settling in his stomach. 'And so, with the support of the Board of Governers, they have seen fit to relieve me of duty, effective immediately. I- I wanted you all to hear it from me. I'm sorry, I have failed you all.'

That last sentence seemed to break something within the Headmistress, and she slumped forward onto the podium, barely able to support herself. Hagrid rushed forwards to support her, sending chairs flying in his haste. He offered a dustbin-lid sized hand, which the Headmistress graciously accepted to steady herself.

Meanwhile, the students were in an uproar. At the Gryffindor table in particular, wands were drawn, furious faces looking around for someone to lash out at, someone to lay blame on. Gazes found only the shrouded hoods of the Steelhearts though, and that eyeless stare alone was enough to quell any hasty thoughts of rebellion.

There was a strange sensation in James' chest, and his eyes couldn't quite focus right. He felt detached, like what he was witnessing wasn't actually reality. He could hear all the cries of outrage and displeasure from his house-mates, but they seemed to be coming to him as if they were at the far end of a tunnel, strangely hollow and devoid of inflection. He felt like he was speeding backwards, zooming out the Hall, up the Staircase, back to the Gryffindor common room, to his bed, to safety, where he could wake up and this wouldn't be happening, everything would be as it was this morning, as it _should be_. How _could_ this even happen?

Something within him screamed a desperate, primal scream, filled with fear and trepidation. This wasn't how it was _supposed_ to be. McGonagall was an institution. She _was_ Hogwarts. She was ageless, timeless like the very castle itself. She was to be here to guide James through, to mentor him and protect him, as Dumbledore had for his own father. Perhaps she didn't possess the same magical prowess as Dumbledore, but she had something equally as powerful; she had, no, she _was_ the burning heart of Godric Gryffindor, the shining beacon of resilience, bravery, courage and loyalty that had withstood the rise and fall of Voldemort. There was no-one who could replace her, no-one left alive who could command such respect.

Nausea churned angrily in his stomach as he witnessed several teachers escorting the Headmistress back to her chair. Professor Martin, the Deputy Headmistress, remained at the podium, and her lips were moving, but James heard no noise at all.

No noise, that was, until a single word – a name – cut through the chatter like the sword of Gryffindor itself.

'Renshaw.'

The students visibly recoiled as one, flinching back as if slapped by that single word. Cat openly hissed, and James' nausea reared up, threatening to overcome him. He tasted bile in his throat.

The doors to the Great Hall slammed open, and in strode a figure whom James assumed must have been Renshaw. She was flanked by two Steelhearts, both decorated with a single slash of gold across their grey robes. She was younger than James had imagined, appearing to be in her early forties at most. Her rich, dark hair was tied back loosely behind her, adorned by two wings of grey above her temples. Her steely gaze and pale eyes flickered across the room, and James had the sensation of being weighed, measured and discarded in the space of a heartbeat. She was tall and lean, and her gait held something of the coiled, deadly grace that the Steelhearts proliferated so strongly.

She strode up the central aisle, coming within mere feet of James. The scent of the Steelhearts washed over them all, causing a ripple of murmurs and cursing from the students. As she ascended the steps, and took over the podium from Professor Martin, she fixed the full weight of her gaze upon the students. James forced himself to hold it, despite the sense of betrayal, the desire to hate her above all else.

'Thank you Anora,' she nodded to Professor Martin, who returned the gesture stiffly, before marching back to her seat. 'Good evening students, it is my pleasure to address you for the first time, as your new Headmistress–'

'Fraud!' Hagrid yelled from his chair, banging his fist on the table and sending crockery flying. In a heartbeat two Steelhearts were at his side. James gasped, as between them they _picked him up_ and carted him cursing and yelling, from the Hall.

All the while, Galatea Renshaw stood silent, her eyes to the front, surveying and weighing the reactions of each and every student within the room. Once the ruckus had died down, Miss Renshaw – James refused to refer to her as Headmistress – turned to McGonagall, offering her the tiniest of nods.

'The loyalty of your staff pay tribute to your legacy, Minerva.' She turned to address the students once more. 'As do the sea of faces before me. Here, now sit almost thrice the numbers that attended the school in my day. Hogwarts has changed, over the past eighteen years of peace she has made great strides, in the quantity, but also the quality of the education provided.

'Not only this, but you have engendered a level of devotion and respect amongst both the students and teachers seldom seen in times of peace. This generation of young students will be leaders of the magical world, and it will be so because of you, Minerva.'

The audience looked on in shock. James' mouth was hanging agape. Where was the Ministry over Matter speech? The propaganda about how Hogwarts has strayed too far from Ministry edict, and needed to be brought into line? Uncle Ron still told horror stories about the last time something like this happened, and a little toad of a woman named Umbridge.

Yet here she was, paying tribute to the Headmistress as if she were some sort of great hero. Which she was, James noted to himself. Why could he not hate Miss Renshaw?

'Sadly, I have no children of my own, but I have many nieces and nephews whom I treasure above all else, and so I know what it is to see a young child grow, and to see the joy of learning and discovery blossom on their young faces. I can only hope to offer you all the same opportunities, and shall strive to provide you with the excellent level of education that Minerva McGonagall has done so for the past eighteen years.'

There was a _very_ pointed cough from Professor Martin at the staff table.

'In the interim – of course.'

Her speech continued; for nearly a half hour she spoke of the greatness of Hogwarts, and the legacy upon which she hoped to build. James tuned out, his eyes glazing over and his stomach beginning to protest at being deprived of his meal. Eventually, when it was over, there was a small smattering of applause.

None of which came from the Gryffindor table.

And then the moment that James had been dreading; the moment that the entire hall had been holding their breath for. Headmistress McGonagall stood up slowly from her chair. Her movements were halting and jerky; she looked to have aged ten years over the past hour. She slowly made her way down from the staff table, embracing every single member, offering them private words of strength and encouragement.

Two Steelhearts came to flank her as she made her way down to the students, but Renshaw waved them off, and James hated himself all over again for being grateful for her thoughtful gesture.

In a single movement, as if they were all part of the same grieving body, every single student within the Great Hall rose to their feet. There was no applause, for this was not a moment to celebrate, there was no noise, for by now there was nothing left to say, there was no movement, for the very heart of the student body was being torn out, and it was all that they could do to witness. Witness, and remember.

There was only one thing in abundance, as a single set of footsteps echoed throughout a silent hall, a thousand eyes locked onto a single figure, and that was tears. All up and down the house tables, students wept, shoulders shaking, depicting silent scenes of heart-rending grief. At the staff table Professor Longbottom wept openly, tears flowing unimpeded down his cheeks. Not for a second did he look away from Headmistress McGonagall.

For many the Headmistress was a mother figure, a mentor, a member of their own families. But for all, she was a reminder. She was one of the few remaining leaders of the generation who had brought the wizarding world out of decades of darkness, she had come to symbolize peace, and everything that was good about the wizarding world, which so many had nigh forgotten eighteen years ago.

And here she was, being taken from them the moment the vanguard of a whisper of turmoil should reach their ears. James was afraid; they were _all_ afraid.

As she reached the midpoint of the tables, the students around her all still silent, suddenly there was a flurry of movement. Students on each side raised their wands, all by unspoken consent, and jets of rich, golden flames erupted from each one. Shimmering, dancing fire roared above her head, but she did not flinch. James saw her back straighten, her chin raise slightly higher, and her stride become a little surer. A burning sensation rose in his own throat, and before he knew it a single tear was tracking a lonely path down his cheek.

The fire burned so bright that James was forced to squint to continue looking, but he would not look away. The heat from it seared his face and dried his lips, but he continued to stare forwards.

As the Headmistress reached him, down the far end of the tables she stopped, pausing for a moment to speak only to him. All around her the hall held their breath. James' own was caught in his throat.

'Stay strong, Potter. For them. For all of them.'

With that she was gone, three strides out the door before James could even bring himself to nod in acceptance. He felt a hand on his shoulder, gently but firmly guiding him back into his seat.

The doors swung shut with an awful, crushing sense of finality, and somewhere among those gathered a young girl let out a deathly wail.

Despite the clear skies without, and in spite of every effort to stop it, the ceiling began to rain. Soft droplets fell, mingling with tears, washing away all evidence of grief. The water was warm, and sweet on James' lips. As he felt it soak him through, running off of him in tiny rivulets, he felt his sense of grief being dragged away from him, disentangled from his thoughts, washed pure by the water. With each droplet that fell from his hair the world seemed to shine a little brighter, the tiniest seeds of hope began to sprout anew. With a knowing glance, he turned his head upwards, towards where he thought the eighth floor might be.

For he knew that the Heart was weeping too, and as it did it took away the pain of its precious charges, for there was only so much sadness that even the Heart of Hogwarts could countenance.

Following an awkward, rushed dinner, in which nobody wanted to hang around beneath the gaze of their new – fake – Headmistress, the group gathered in a soppy huddle in the Entrance Hall, discussing whether or not they should tell Miss Renshaw about their discovery.

Cat hadn't been able to believe that they would even consider it, and had angrily half-stormed, half-squelched her way up the Grand Staircase to bed without a further word to any of them.

Rain had managed to disappear before anybody noticed she was gone, and so it was just the six of them, and they were evenly split on whether or not they ought to do it.

'Well Cat disagrees,' Clip said firmly, 'so that's four in favour of _not_ telling her.'

'But Rain was all for it, I don't think she would have changed her mind,' Cassie countered.

'Pity we are such a bunch of outcasts,' Tristan mused, 'or else we could have made more friends, then we'd have an odd number.'

'We can always kick one out,' Fred supplied, none-too-helpfully, 'I've been asking myself lately what exactly it _is_ that you bring to the group, MacMillan…'

'Guys, focus!' James snapped. 'I think we need to do it, regardless. I'll do it alone if you don't want to come Freddy, but it has to happen. Besides, if we can catch her out, and it really _is_ Wren that's been doing all these attacks, then maybe they'll bring McGonagall back.' He said it hopefully, but the faces of his friends showed that they weren't buying.

'I dunno man, it seemed pretty… final,' Fred replied, his tone flat. 'Grandad Weasley says she's been thinking about retirement for a while, anyway. Maybe… maybe it's for the best.'

James' shoulders slumped. He wanted to be mad at Fred for even saying that, but couldn't find it in himself to argue. 'Either way, I think we do it. I want to catch Wren–'

'If it _is_ her,' Cassie interjected.

'Yea, yea,' James waved her off. I'm going to go to the Headmistress now, before she leaves the Hall. She's still in there talking to Professor Longbottom I think. You coming Fred?'

Fred nodded. They bade the others goodnight, and turned back towards the Great Hall.

The door was still cracked open, almost all of the floating candles were extinguished, the only light coming from a single torch in a bracket at the far end, near the Slytherin table. James could barely make out two figures through the gloom, both tall, both feminine. He was reasonably certain that the one facing them was the Headmistress. As for the identity of the other, he had no idea.

He made to shove the door open and announce themselves, but something in the way the two figures were moving towards each other gave him pause.

'Aunty! I've missed you so much!' cried the figure facing away from them. The two closed the distance and embraced in an affectionate hug.

'Aunty?' James mouthed to Fred, incredulous.

For some reason it seemed hard to imagine the picture of Galatea Renshaw that had been painted so vibrantly throughout the school by the _Quibbler_ as having any family at all. James cursed himself for a fool again, the woman seemed more and more human by the second. He was trying to actively _stop_ himself from admiring her, the way she picked up the student who must have been her niece, spinning her around in an openly affectionate embrace, despite the student being easily as tall as her, if a little more slender.

'Oh how I have longed to see your face, my little Fairy Wren! How is my one and only goddaughter?' Renshaw all but crooned.

James froze. No. It couldn't be, it just _couldn't_ be.

As they broke off the embrace, James finally caught a glimpse of the second figure in the flickering, fitful torchlight. Tall, imperious posture. High, pronounced cheekbones. Almond eyes. The shimmer of a silver- and green-lined hood on her cloak. It was _her_.

He took a step back, unable to breathe, choking on the impossibility. He looked to Fred and saw a reflection of his own horror writ plain across his face. Together, wordlessly, the boys spun and fled, the sound of joyous laughter at a long-awaited reunion taking on a mocking tone as it chased them all the way up the stairs to their beds.

Life under Renshaw began in earnest the following day. It seemed to James that she was everywhere. She was eating breakfast when he arrived, he saw her in the corridor on his way to Charms class, and she popped in to observe his Defence later that week. He wondered if, after he and Fred had left that night, that Wren hadn't filled her in on the lay of the land across the student body, and passed on her secret enmity with James and his friends. He wouldn't put it past her.

Whenever Renshaw wasn't around, he felt the eyes of the Steelhearts boring into him. _They_ physically _were_ everywhere. He had no idea how many had been contracted to oversee matters in the castle, but it seemed like there must have been hundreds of them. They were in every study room, quiet corridor, shady nook or secluded cranny, and always, _always_ , they reported back to Renshaw. Tristan joked that he wouldn't even be able to let off a fart in the corridors without it eventually getting back to the woman before the smell had even dissipated.

James was particularly on edge now about the Heart. He had shared his feelings that the Heart was losing whatever battle it was fighting, that it was growing weaker, and could be prime for a killing blow any day now. The fact that Wren was practically the new Headmistress' favourite child meant that she would surely be able to get away with murder anywhere within these walls.

He shuddered briefly at the thought. He wasn't entirely sure that that was out of the question.

The only question that remained was whether or not Renshaw actually _knew_ about her niece's little side-project, as James had taken to calling it public places. He hoped for all of their sakes that she was ignorant.

That weekend, a fortnight under Renshaw's Reign, as Cat called it, found the group huddled together tightly in a corner of the mostly-empty Fred Weasley Memorial Stand, watching a poorly-attended Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Neither team had anything to play for except pride now. The race for the house cup was purely between Ravenclaw, who were on a four game winning streak, and looking to come home strong; and Slytherin, the current favourites behind the prodigy that was Odette Mansfield, second-year Seeker.

There was a single of the ever-present Steelhearts standing behind the back row. Standing, because upon arrival and his attempt to take a seat, he had promptly been ejected three times out into the aisle. The fourth time, every chair that he approached had folded up tight, refusing to open despite a veritable horde of curses thrown its way. In a final fit of rage, he had aimed a tremendous kick at the nearest chair, which had conveniently vanished, sending the Steelheart careening off balance to tumble in a heap into a vacant row of seating.

Following that, the irate Steelheart had decided that it was better for everybody's continued wellbeing if he should just stay standing.

The entire group were there, minus Rain, who had failed the recent Defence practical under the scrutiny of Miss Renshaw, and was now taking a mandatory, one-on-one remedial Defence class with Professor Meadows, in her office. James had hardly seen the defence professor since Teddy's departure; she had become somewhat of a recluse, spending long hours locked away in her office. Leah Ridley _swore_ she walked in on her crying once, but Leah had also recently said that Miss Renshaw had been kicked out of America for performing illegal magical transfigurations on newborn babies, so James took that one with a pinch of salt.

The Gryffindor team were playing their last game without the Hydra, and the substitute Chasers were finally beginning to show some life. They had stretched out a reasonable lead at three hundred eighty points to three hundred thirty, but James remained on edge; Diana Fairbourne had hardly been a safe bet so far this year in terms of catching the snitch.

He looked out over the meagre gathered crowd, wondering if Wren was out there watching the game, or watching them, even. He doubted it; she would have more important things to see to. Whatever it was that the "Witch Weekly five-time Granger award-winner for Brightest Witch of her Age" did in her spare time, it was a mystery to mere mortals such as James.

If he still had his father's cloak he could have tracked her, followed her as she left the hall after breakfast, maybe found whatever secret room she must have to plot all of her nasty magic together with Nero. A wave of loss and shame burned hot for an instant; he still hadn't been able to tell his father about it. A part of him was still not able to comprehend the fact that he had lost it, an artefact so old and so sacred to his family. He had possessed it for less than a year, and had already managed to lose it. He groaned inwardly, picturing the angry flush of his mother's face as she berated him. More damning would be the silent disappointment from his father. A bitter taste rose in his throat, and he forced it back down. He _needed_ to start making some inquiries as to who had been out in the Forest that day. He ought to have been doing it from the moment he realised the Cloak had been taken, but everything else had forced it from his busy mind.

As sure as a mermaid could swim, Diana Fairbourne missed another easy opportunity to catch the snitch, and the Hufflepuff seeker swiped it clean from under her nose. James groaned, dropping his head to his chest melodramatically. The perfect summary to their season. The only bright side was that they would have the Hydra back for the final game. They would likely be rusty, but at least they would have a _chance_ to go out with a bang, rather than a whimper.

The meagre crowd of well under a hundred students traipsed back across the sodden lawns, tracking mud and debris across the courtyard on their way to the Entrance Hall, under the watchful eye of a half-dozen Steelhearts, of course. Curiously, there were no students about once they entered the castle, and a concerned-looking Professor Longbottom was awaiting them at the base of the stairs.

'All students, straight into the Great Hall, quickly now. They'll explain once they get there. Potter, Weasley, you lot come here.'

That sinking feeling in his stomach was becoming far too familiar of a friend for James' liking.

'Not again…' Fred groaned, voicing James' exact thoughts.

Professor Longbottom looked more than a little harried, and had his wand out. His eyes were darting about the room, fixing on James and his friends for only seconds at a time. James was getting nervous just looking at him. Cat was shuffling uncomfortably back and forth behind him.

'James, any of you guys, do you have any idea what Miss Rain had planned to do for the afternoon? Did she give mention of her whereabouts at all? Any meetings, study, or other friends she was planning on seeing?'

The corners of his vision went dark, his legs felt like jelly all of a sudden, and he had to steady himself against Fred's shoulder.

'She- she was supposed to be with Professor Meadows. All afternoon. They were… she was studying for Defence, a private lesson.'

The look Professor Longbottom gave him was enough to confirm his suspicions, his fears, and he nearly collapsed on the spot.

'I thought as much. It appears that someone has infiltrated the castle and abducted Professor Meadows, and, unfortunately, Miss Rain as well. There is signs of a scuffle in her office, but there are no clues as to where they have gone. The Steelhearts are combing the castle as we speak, but we fear that they may have been taken to the eighth floor, and it will take some time to sweep that region entirely. In the meantime there is a complete lockdown. All students not in their common rooms are being kept in the Great Hall. Professor Ellfrick and a small contingent of Steelhearts are there to watch over you, and we will let you know as soon as we know anything more. For now, it's best to stay put, and keep your heads down.'

He gave them a very stern look as he said that. Almost like he had first-hand experience of another, similar first year Potter sneaking out at a time when he most certainly should not have been. As if Professor Longbottom himself might have actually tried to _stop_ a certain similar first-year named Potter from sneaking out.

James was bursting with questions, but Professor Longbottom would hear none of it. He shepherded them towards the door to the Great Hall, where a pair of waiting Steelhearts corralled them, chasing them through. James shouted for Professor Longbottom, he even called out that Wren was behind it, but his words fell unheard or unheeded, as the professor was already halfway up the stairs.

The doors slammed, and James sank to the floor slowly, a gaping hole in his chest, feeling like a great gale was blowing right through him.

They had Rain. _Wren_ had Rain; he knew it was her.

He looked up at his friends, all of whom were in varying stages of concern and determination. He knew that their mind had already been made up. He knew _his_ mind was made up; there had never been a doubt. Every one of them would do the same for him.

They had Rain, but not for long. James Potter was coming to get them.


	24. Chapter 24

James led the group over to an inconspicuous corner of the Great Hall. He positioned them all strategically behind a much larger, and much louder bunch of Hufflepuff sixth-years, who were in the throes of uproarious laughter over some joke regarding two Hags, a Banshee, and a poor, lonely Troll.

The seven of them crouched down, James quickly scanning the room to ensure neither the Steelhearts nor Professor Ellfrick had taken any particular notice of their entrance. A sense of urgency was flaring in his chest, pounding his ribcage in time with his quick-fire heartbeat.

'We need to go,' he whispered, his tone was clipped, and there was a dangerous gleam in his light brown eyes. A light that they inherited whenever James Potter was forced to _act._

It was a credit to the strength of all of their friendships, and the iron ties that now bound them, that every single one of his friends nodded confidently. Six pairs of eyes were fixed on him, waiting for him to say the word. At that moment James didn't doubt that if he had asked them to blast a path straight to Rain through the walls of the castle itself, they would have given it their best shot.

'There won't be room for all of us,' he continued. Instantly, he was assaulted by a half-dozen faces of disappointment and consternation, but he forged on resolutely. 'Seven students suddenly disappearing, not to mention trying to sneak through the castle under full lockdown, would be just about impossible. Besides, if anything changes, like they escape the castle and we can't be contacted, someone else might have to go after her.'

The frowns morphed to nods and acquiescence before his eyes, and he nodded to Holly, Fred and Tristan. 'I think the four of us should go. No offense, but we are the best with wand in hand, I think it makes sense. Everyone ok with that?'

Fred and Tristan both looked a little pale, but their resolve never wavered. Holly had tiny grin on her face, but James could see how quick her pulse was racing on her neck. The others nodded their agreement, hastily giving their blessings to leave without them.

'Right. Good.' James swallowed. All of a sudden it was very _real._ They were about to dash off and confront who-knew-what sort of witch or wizard that had managed to kidnap a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. What chance would four first-years have against those odds?

Grim determination was the only answer he could find. The only one that he could afford. If his father had stopped to ask himself that in his first year, then Voldemort may well have ended up with the Philosopher's Stone.

It was time for a serving of that fabled Gryffindor courage. The only problem was, it seemed a little slow in showing up. As James reached out his arms, bringing his friends into a tight huddle, lowering his voice even further, he could feel his hands shaking, his breath was coming in short, ragged bursts. The thrumming of his beating heart was making a noise so loud he was certain it would give them away.

'I think we need to start in Professor Meadows' office,' he whispered. 'If there are any clues about who or what took them, they will be there. Plus she has an Anchor for the eighth floor. If nothing else, we can take that with us. From there we make straight to the Heart, fast as we can. I don't know why the teachers haven't found them yet, but if they can't, we will.'

'Do you not think they will have taken the Anchor with them?' Cassie asked, a tone of uncertainty strong in her voice. 'And won't there be people there, if it is a crime scene then surely the teachers would be all over it looking for clues as well.'

James screwed up his face, cursing himself in his head. He hadn't thought of that. There was no way that they would be able to navigate the eighth floor without an Anchor though. A cold, helpless feeling began to spread out slowly within his chest, wrapping his heart in a chilled blanket, slowing its fervent pace.

'I think it's still worth a shot,' Fred countered. 'It's really all we have to go on. We don't know where any other Anchors are, or which teachers have them. There's a chance that everyone is too busy tracking down the kidnapper to be worried about the scene of the crime. They aren't likely to reappear there while everyone is out hunting for them.

'It's a long shot, I know. But at this stage I think we don't have any other choice. And right now time is wasting. We need to be out there. If we think of another plan on the way, we can act on it.'

Cassie didn't like it. It was plain on her face. Her mouth crinkled and contorted, her brow creased, as she frantically tried to think up an alternative plan. After a minute or so of tense silence, her shoulders slumped.

'O-ok, go on then. It's all we've got, I suppose.'

James nodded, Tristan nodded. Fred closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. Holly giggled.

They were ready.

'Be safe,' Cassie warned, and Clip nodded in agreement, unable to speak.

The group got up and began to stretch cramped muscles. James turned to his friends, seeking some words of assurance. He felt the burning need to tell them that he would be ok, that he would see them all again soon.

But he couldn't bring himself to tell a lie.

There was a door near the back of the hall, behind the staff table, that lead to a small outer conference-type room. That was James' target, as he knew that there was a false back to a cupboard in there that led to a narrow, winding staircase that would take them all the way up to the staff room. He smiled; that had been one of the first passages he had learned with Wren and Nero's help. Now he was about to use it against them. The feeling was sweet.

As he made to leave, he felt a body collide solidly with his own, wrapping him up entirely and nearly scooping him clear off the floor. He panicked momentarily, attempting to struggle free, before he realised the long, silver-blonde hair and the scent of that particularly sweet cherry perfume.

'Cat,' he mumbled into her chest.

'Be safe James,' she whispered to the top of his head. 'Come back to me. To all of us. We need you.'

James gently disentangled himself and looked up at his friend. Her eyes were glistening in the late afternoon sunlight that slanted in through the stained glass windows. She brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, and reached out with her other hand, brushing her fingers softly across his heart again.

It was the hardest smile James had ever forced himself to make, but he made it as reassuring as he possibly could, and nodded, with what he hoped was some level of conviction.

'I'll see you soon,' he managed, 'when it's all over.'

With that he turned, jogging to catch up with the others who were now mingling as innocuously as they could manage around the door to the conference room.

The four waited impatiently for their moment. Professor Ellfrick was patrolling the Hall, tracing a slow path up and down between the house tables, stopping every now and again to offer words of comfort to troubled students. It was the Steelhearts that were the real issue. There were two, positioned at either end of the hall. James studied them out of the corner of his eye, as surreptitiously as he could manage, but he just couldn't tell which way their eyes were looking inside those damn hoods.

He turned to look pleadingly back at his remaining friends, hoping for some assistance. Cassie nodded her understanding and slowly drew her wand. Within seconds there was a loud _'Bang!_ ' And suddenly Georgia Braithwaite was stumbling about whimpering, her Slytherin robes had flown upwards and were now tangled around her head. She was crying out, thinking she was under attack. Cassie had a particularly evil little grin on her face, and Holly wore its identical twin.

Using the brief distraction as cover, James shoved open the side door and tumbled through, his three friends hot on his heels. He listened as they dashed across the room towards the cupboard with the false backing, but heard no shouts of alarm, or footfalls approaching their position.

The room was dimly lit, with only a single torch burning low in its bracket. Glass-fronted cabinets lined the walls, displaying trophies and plaques which winked and glinted menacingly in the half-light. Fred kicked the corner of a low table and hissed a curse. James silently thanked him, as he had completely missed the squat furniture placed directly in his own path.

They eased the cupboard door open silently; it was well-maintained through its constant use by teachers to and from the staff room. Three taps with Fred's wand and the back slid away, revealing a comparatively-well-lit, tight spiral staircase winding up before them.

Fred had the lead, and raced up first with his wand drawn, taking the steps two at a time. James followed behind a little more cautiously, keeping his wand out in front and his free hand tracing the outside wall of the staircase for balance. The sheer _insanity_ of what they were about to do still threatening to overwhelm him, and leaving him with a nasty light-headedness that he couldn't seem to shake.

By the time the rest of them arrived at the top of the cramped staircase – on a narrow landing barely large enough to hold all four of them – Fred was already crouched down on the floor, a pale, flesh-coloured string running out from his ear through the gap beneath the door.

The three others crowded around Fred near the base of the door, the tight confines forcing Holly to press herself firmly up against James' back.

The four collectively held their breath, James smelled sweat, and something cool and crisp from Holly. Fred's lips were working soundlessly – counting, James realised. After a couple of minutes, he stood up, giving them a silent thumbs-up. The coast was clear.

The Extendable Ear went back into a side-pocket of Fred's notorious satchel bag, which seemed a lot smaller than usual today, for whatever reason. He never went anywhere without that thing, a fact that could very well come in handy for whatever it was that they had to face off against today. They'd need all the help from the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes that they could get.

Fred cautiously pushed on the false panel which was acting like a doorway, and it swung inward without protest, revealing an empty lounge room within the wing of the castle collectively referred as the staff room. The room that they had entered through was dominated by a set of four extremely plush sofas centred around a small brazier in which a mesmerising green-blue flame was flickering. The walls were lined with captivating panoramic artworks, paintings of sweeping countryside, rugged cliff-lined beaches and tall, craggy mountains all stood side by side. The single window was currently shuttered, late afternoon sunlight valiantly striving to creep into the room through the tiniest of cracks, competing with the strange fireplace to cast light upon the dim confines.

As they walked past the brazier, James looked down at the fire, amazed. Instead of giving of heat, the flame was _cooling_ the room. A gentle wafting of cool air, with the faintest scents of the ocean, was emanating from within the steel grate. He paused momentarily, staring in wonderment, holding out a single hand towards the flames, before Tristan caught up to him from behind and grabbed him unceremoniously by the collar.

'If you want to stare at the pretty flames then I can arrange to have you caught sneaking into the girls' prefects bathroom. Father said he did that once, got dragged in here and was almost hanged by Professor Snape, before Sprout came along and vouched for him. I always did wonder why he wanted to go in there in the first place… I mean, there might have been girls in there. And they could have been… _naked._ '

James pulled a face, shuddering at the very thought of it. He padded across the soft carpet to catch up to Fred and Holly, who were waiting at the door back out into the corridor, mirrored impatient expressions on their faces.

Fred opened the door again, and the group piled out into the deserted corridor. The castle was strangely eerie with nobody about. Ordinarily there would be a dozen students strolling through the corridors, or perched on the window seats that lined the hallway, offering views out over the tops of the greenhouses and down to the Black Lake. Teachers would be striding purposefully back and forth, their charges parting around them like flowing water around implacable stone.

Now there was nothing; no footsteps in the distance, no sound of slamming door or muffled laughter. Even the light coming in through the windows seemed muted and grey, barely illuminating the far wall, seeming to wash out the portraits rather than bathe them in light. The tiny, pale motes of dust which hovered lazily in the air seemed to be painted in greyscale, as they wallowed sluggishly, here and gone, here and gone, between the shafts of sunlight.

Three of the group turned to head along the corridor towards the staircase heading up. James was among them; they had a lot of ground to cover, up to the Defence classroom and then back to the stairs and up to the eighth floor. There were no shortcuts that he knew of between the staff room and Professor Meadows' office, and he was keen to get moving. He spun to face Holly, a frown coursing across his brow. He froze when he saw her standing there, twirling her fingers around the edge of her robes as if it were a sundress.

'What,' James barked.

'You're going the wrong wa-ay,' Holly sung, twirling about on the spot.

'What are you talking about? I know how to get to the Defence office.'

Had Holly lost it? Had she just snapped and gone mental? This was hardly the time for it, James cursed under his breath.

'I don't think we want the classroom,' Holly retorted. She was now toying idly with a strand of her dark hair which she had pulled free of her customary braid. 'We need to go _down.'_

'Holly, look–' Fred begun, but she cut him off with a _tut,_ pressing a single finger firmly to his lips, she danced up to within an inch of his face, and then turned to look at James, an intense look flashing across her features.

'We don't want the office,' she whispered. Fred was going slightly cross-eyed trying to stare at her finger. 'There'll be nothing there for us there. You know it James, we all know it. We may even be walking into a trap. There's a good chance the teachers would have left _someone_ there. It's too dangerous. They'll be up on the eighth floor, we all know what Wren is after. We also know we might be the only ones who are in possession of the last remaining artefact in the school that can get us up there.'

'But the Anchors–' this time it was Tristan who spoke, and Holly's other hand snaked out to press a finger to his mouth, silencing him again.

The four were now in a mildly comical arrangement in the middle of the open corridor, whereby Holly was standing in the centre, her arms spread-eagled, shushing both boys who seemed too terrified to move for fear of some swift retribution from those ominous fingers. James, who had been remaining quiet, was now facing Holly at a distance of about three inches, and had a textbook sequence of realisation was playing out for all to see across his face.

'Holly, you're a genius!' he yelled. 'We can go down and get the–'

And then she _kissed_ him.

Right there, in the centre of the hallway, in the middle of a school-wide crisis, James Potter got his first kiss on the lips, from a _real girl._

It lasted less than a second, more of a suggestion than anything else, the briefest hint of a soft scent and a warm rush of fresh breath. The barest of presses against his own lips, before it was gone, the moment past.

Silence stretched on. James was completely frozen, Tristan was staring, his mouth agape, with Holly's finger now swallowed up inside it. Fred, to his credit, was fighting an admirable battle against the waves upon waves of laughter that were clearly threatening to overwhelm him.

'You were going to yell it out,' Holly shrugged, 'and I was out of fingers.'

With that she turned and trotted off towards the staircase heading down to the Slytherin common room and the dungeons.

 _Yep._ James decided, she _had_ gone completely mental.

Fred was shooting him a questioning look as the three boys followed together, a good couple of feet behind Holly, whom nobody seemed to want to get too close to, in case they ended up being the next ones to get a kiss.

'You didn't,' Tristan whispered incredulously, a smile growing on his face.

'Uh-huh,' James nodded triumphantly. 'Swapped it out after Holly's forest leg. She stashed the real one. The copy I "lost" was just a ratty old bit of parchment. Holly's been hiding it ever since, somewhere in the Slytherin common room I think. She's the only one who knows where it is.'

'If we make it through this alive,' Fred offered, 'Cassie is going to _murder_ you.'

The boys' laughter echoed heartily off of the walls of the castle, momentarily chasing back the grim, pale, lifeless scene, painting it with a vibrant burst of colour.

The sound seemed to linger for a long time, becoming tangled and distorted by echoes until James could no longer tell the two boys' laughter apart. It was almost as if it wasn't their laughter at all…

They rounded a sharp corner and all just about bumped into Holly, who was frozen in place before them.

Face to face with Preston Lynch.

'Potter,' he spat. 'Fancy seeing you out here. Should have known that you'd come sniffing about as soon as trouble stirred up. Chasing glory like your father used to. Must run in that muddy blood, I guess.'

James' hand was hovering over his wand, but he didn't want to be the first to draw it. He needed to get out of here, fast. Preston had three cronies with him as well, all first year Gryffindors. If there was any way that he could get by without this devolving into a fight, he had to try and take it. He didn't have _time_ to waste. Rain was up there, somewhere.

'Or maybe it's your girlfriend you're missing,' Tristan continued with a cruel smile. 'They've got her and old peg-leg I hear. Gathering the local freaks. I wouldn't be too worried if I were you, it's probably just the circus recruiting again.'

'What do you want, Preston?' James forced the words out through gritted teeth. Sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead from the frustration of being stuck here in a _stupid_ argument with _stupid_ Preston Lynch when he needed to be seven floors higher up, finding Rain.

'What do I want? I want a lot of things Potter. I wanted a snack, so we went to the kitchens. Yesterday I wanted the new concept-model Starstrider broom, so I had father buy it for me. Right now, though, I want you out of my way, so… _Petrificus Totalus!'_

James barely had time to dodge the spell, so quick was Preston on the draw. It whizzed over his head by a matter of inches, the static making his hair stand on end. He pushed himself up and rolled, as a second spell rocketed his way, kicking up shards of dust and chips of stone where his head had been only moments before.

His friends had spread out around him, battle lines formed four against four. James swore angrily as he let off a Leg-Locker at Preston, rage fuelling his movements, crowding his thoughts. Urgency and helplessness were burning fiercely within him, and he was marvelling at the sheer stupidity of it. If they failed here, he may end up sitting out the entire evening staring uselessly at a patch of ceiling while Rain's fate was sealed only a few floors above.

He grunted as his Imminuum cut through a brilliant orange jet from Preston's wand, and countered with a Tickling Jinx, sidestepping to his right. Preston spun easily away from it, and James found himself against one of the cronies, having swapped duelling partners with Tristan. His opponent rained hex after hex down upon James, and he was fast wilting under the pressure, constantly giving ground, parrying time after time with the Imminuum spell, the only defensive magic he knew.

A wild spell from Preston jettisoned off of a wall and opened a painful cut on James' right arm. Searing fire raced up to his shoulder, and lanced all the way down to his fingertips. He bent over the wound, instinctively curling up around the damage, his fingers involuntarily loosening their hold on his wand. He didn't see the next spell that hit him, but it collided with his chest, knocking him back several feet, sending him cartwheeling through the air to land in a heap on the carpeted floor.

His wand was several feet away, having been flung out of his hand. He tried to push himself up, but his right arm wouldn't take his weight, and he collapsed back to the ground. He watched in horror as Fred was hit with a knock-back Jinx as well, tumbling to a heap not far from James.

The two boys were now too far up the hall to be of any use. Any spell that they would cast would run the risk of hitting Holly or Tristan in the back. James was using the wall to get himself upright, but he was starting to feel woozy, and there was an alarming trail of blood left behind where he was leaning on a portrait for support. Fred appeared to have hit his head, and was having great trouble finding his bearings, staggering back and forth aimlessly to James' left.

The fight was now four against two, and James knew that they wouldn't be able to hold out for long. Tristan was mostly on the defensive now, Diffusing three spells for every one that he cast himself. Holly was darting in and out of the oncoming jets of light, weaving gracefully through the barrage as if the spells were mere leaves, and she the wind, toying with them almost playfully as they batted around her to no avail.

She landed one of her trademark stunners on the attacker to Preston's left, and he went down in a heap, snarling the footing of a second. She used the momentary confusion to hit him with a Leg-Locker and a powerful Tickling Jinx, sending him to the floor in useless fits of insane laughter. All of a sudden the odds were even again, as James bent down to pick up his want, slowly, methodically, approaching the fray once again.

He gasped as Holly fell to the floor, but it was only to dodge a particularly nasty enfilade of spells from the two attackers. Tristan fired back, but his own spell was deflected, and Preston hit him with something that knocked the wind clean out of him, sending him doubling over, his wand clattering to the floor, as he desperately clawed at his throat and chest for air. James grabbed Fred, who was coming to his senses, and the two closed in on the fight, desperate to get to Holly now that she was alone and vulnerable.

If she went down here, then they were doomed. She was the only one who knew where the Map was, not to mention the only one who could get into the Slytherin common room. They were only a half-dozen yards from her now, and James aimed a wild Body-Bind with his left hand, but it went well high over Preston's head.

He yelled out as Holly was a second too slow to completely block a spell from the last remaining Gryffindor cohort of Preston's, and the force of it staggered her momentarily. Sensing victory, Preston drew himself up to his full height, whipping his wand forward in an aggressive arc.

' _Stupefy!'_ he yelled, with all his might, and a red jet of light shot towards Holly-

-and connected with Tristan, who, still unable to breathe, had merely grabbed her by the back of the collar, throwing her bodily to the floor. The spell hit him in the side of the head, sending him crumpling to a heap on the floor.

He did not move again.

James and Fred roared out in joint voices as they joined the fight once more. They both fired off a duo of Body-Bind curses, James with his left hand still. One of them found their mark, connecting with Preston's ally. Finally, as Holly rose once more, it was three against one, and Preston could sense his defeat. He held his hands up in surrender, throwing his wand to the floor before them.

'Guys, guys, wait, I–'

' _Stupefy!'_

Holly's stunner knocked him back a good three feet, where he fell in a heap, spread-eagled on the floor.

James smiled, he was going to be feeling sore tomorrow morning.

The three remaining first years came together around Tristan's unmoving form. His chest was rising and falling softly, his breath evidently having returned as if there were never a problem.

James looked at the others, his helpless feeling reflected back at him on both of their faces. Fred was shaking his head softly.

'I don't know the spell,' Holly whispered softly. 'I'm so sorry Tristan.'

James looked up at his friends, he grabbed both of their hands and pulled them upright. The burning in his arm had faded noticeably when Preston had gone down, which made him think he had been sustaining the spell on him. He inspected the wound quickly. There was a _lot_ of blood, slowly drying on his arm, but the cut itself seemed relatively small. There was a slowly receding green-back smear around the gash, which James guessed must have been the source of the pain.

He knew little on the subject, but wondered if the spell wasn't some sort of Dark Magic.

'Holly, can you cast something to get someone's attention? Get a teacher here, I don't want any of them left out in the corridors while… Whoever it is, is loose in the castle. Even Preston. We need to keep moving. The Map, remember?'

She nodded, tears glistening in her silver-grey eyes. James crouched down and laid a hand on Tristan's shoulder.

'We'll see you on the other side, mate. We'll do this now, because of you. _For_ you.'

With that, he set off at a brisk march downward, stowing his wand in his trousers. Holly's Caterwauling Charm was loud enough to wake the dead, and they picked up the pace away from the scene of the crime, cutting through a secret passage behind a tapestry, just to be safe.

The passage spat them out on the basement floor, on the landing above the single known stairway leading down into the dungeons. A stately old man in the portrait to their left nearly choked on his tea when he saw them emerge.

'I say, you children look as if you've been brawling! Oughtn't you all to be tucked away in your common rooms? I've a mind to alert the faculty! Reginald Podmore has no time at all for rule-breaking!'

'Oh put a sock in it,' Holly growled, flicking her wand and silencing him instantly.

She turned to James and Fred, both of whom were watching the poor old wizard shout himself hoarse within the confines of his portrait, but to no avail. He was brandishing his teacup wildly about, its contents slopping all over the table at which he had been sitting.

'Neither of you two can go where I'm going,' Holly told them sternly, 'I doubt the common room would let you in in the first place, and there's no _way_ that we would get back out, not with two Gryffindors. There'll be teachers in there, maybe a Steelheart as well. I have to do this bit alone.'

James nodded; he had been ready for this. 'We'll go and hide in a broom cupboard nearby, we'll wait until you're finished. Give us a secret knock when you come by and we'll know it's you.'

The group found a nearby cupboard – an unused one for potions storage – and James and Fred folded themselves rather acrobatically to lie horizontal on the shelves. It smelled of dead things, and the dust kept tickling James' nose, but it was out of the way, and unlikely to be checked as part of any routine patrols undertaken by the staff.

Holly left them with a brief wave, pressing the door shut firmly behind her, enshrouding the boys in utter darkness. The sounds of her footsteps padding off down the corridor marked their growing sense of unease. Finally, all was silent.

James was lying on his back, staring up at what would have been the shelf above him, trying not to move too much and disturb the dust which carpeted everything in a thick, grimy layer. The minutes stretched on, and the boys began to fidget, worrying what could be taking her so long. Surely it was a two minute trip. James' frayed nerves were getting more and more fraught by the second, worrying that she had been caught by a teacher, and trapped in there, unable to leave.

All of a sudden he heard footsteps, and shifted on his shelf, eager to be ready to go when Holly opened the door. As they approached, however, he realised that there were two sets, and he froze in place, even holding his breath so as not to make a sound.

'-trouble up on the eighth floor. Something's not right up there, they say it's changing worse than ever. Disobeying them, the Anchors aren't working to their full capacity. Contact is patchy but the last I heard nobody had been able to get to the Heart.' That was the voice of Professor Plye, hushed and scratchy.

'That sounds like some powerful magic at work,' came the response of Professor Martin's voice. 'I do hope they are cautious. I should think that these Steelhearts would have been able to sniff them out by now, what with their… _dubious_ talents, and all.'

Any response from Professor Plye was lost as the pair rounded a corner in the corridor and carried on their patrol. James heard Fred let out his half of the breath they had both been holding.

As he did so, the infernal dust stirred up, tickling beneath his nose. He felt a burning sensation growing, he desperately tried to pinch his nose, but moving his arms only kicked up more dust into the air, making the problem worse. He squinted his eyes, and let out a sneeze that ripped through the silence of their now-deserted corridor.

' _Shit.'_ Fred hissed from below.

James heard it, too. Footsteps. Coming their way. Soft, slippered soles slapping on the stone, definitely not the hard shoes that Holly had been wearing when she had left them. James desperately fumbled for his wand in his pocket, but the way he was lying on the shelf meant that he couldn't reach it. He heard Fred shuffling and cursing below him. The footsteps were upon them now, a hand turning the knob on the door. Instinctively, James threw his hands up to protect his face as the relative light of the dungeon corridor washed over them.

'Er… guys?'

Holly's voice. The most beautiful, wonderful voice James could have heard at that very moment. He accepted her hand to help him down from the shelf, gasping as he caught sight of her in the dim torchlight or the windowless corridor.

'Holly, what _happened_ to you?' Her hair was a mess. Her usually just-messy-enough braid was in tangles, flyaway strands hanging off it at all angles. She had a small cut on her left eye that was quickly beginning to swell and darken, and her lip was bleeding quite heavily. There was a split up the side of her robes exposing her pale pink shirt beneath, and she was now wearing a pair of outrageously purple fluffy slippers.

'Erm, well… you know I'm not everybody's favourite in there. I sort of ran into Viola Greengrass on my way to get the Map. I'm not sure what she was even _doing_ down there. She tried to Hex me as I walked past, so I got her good, stuffed her in the cleaning cupboard. And I stole her slippers, pretty aren't they?'

She wiggled her toes enthusiastically, looking up at the boys.

'Sure…' James offered.

'Remind me never to get mad at you, Miss Brooks. Like, ever.' Fred was looking very sincere as he said that, and James couldn't help but agree with him. First-hand experience, and all of that.

Holly drew the Map out before them all, it was already active. Fred gasped as he saw it for the first time, tracing a finger reverently over the lines that flowed so elegantly across the page.

'This is beautiful,' he whispered. 'Dad talks about something like this. Says it was their most prized possession.'

'We need to get to the eighth floor,' Holly whispered frantically, 'without being seen. We need to get to the Heart of Hogwarts.'

The map flipped over in her hands, flicking to the page which showed the three of them, crowded in a tiny corridor on the western side of the Dungeons. A tiny set of footprints began to set out to their left, making their way towards what James had previously thought had been a dead-end. He wasted no time, trotting off in that direction, trusting the map completely.

'But isn't–' Fred began.

'Trust it, Fred.' James barked. Time was their greatest enemy now, they _needed_ to get a move on.

The trio darted through the castle, edging through narrow passages, flitting in and out behind tapestries and portraits, using every single shortcut that the map could offer them. Blessedly their route was clear, they heard only one patrol in the distance, as they waited in a broom cupboard for them to pass by outside. As they cleared the seventh floor landing, James saw the steps on the map march up towards the eighth floor, and simply stop. He gazed at it, perplexed. He asked it again, but it showed only the same outcome. Once they rounded the corner in front of them, the Map would offer no further guidance.

'That's the door to the eighth floor around there,' Fred muttered. 'Maybe it doesn't work up there?'

'It must do,' James countered, 'Wren would have made it to work up there, especially if she was planning this attack for a long time. There must be something else wrong. Do you have anything in that bag to check if there's someone around there?'

Fred rummaged around in the side pocket of his satchel bag again, coming up with what looked like a giant eyeball on legs. 'Eloping Eyeballs,' he explained. 'Go with the Extendable ears. Still experimental at the moment; they tend to explode… a little bit. Maybe stand back, I'll have a peek around the corner, see what's going on.'

The three backed up until they were peeking out of an empty classroom a little way back up the hall. Fred set the Eyeball down, where it leapt up enthusiastically, running around in little circles, while he affixed what looked like a monocle over one of his eyes, covering the other with his hand.

'Gets a little confusing when you're seeing two different things at once,' he shrugged.

He bent down and gave the Eyeball a gentle shove, and it trotted happily out into the corridor, towards the blind corner around which the Map refused to lead them.

The three of them were pressed up against the cracked door, peering out, watching as the tiny legs on the enthusiastic little eyeball worked frantically to carry it out around the corner. Fred was giving them a running commentary of what he saw as it went along.

'Ok, so there's the landing on the stairs… can't see anybody. Up the stairs, look _up_ you stupid thing. There! I can see the entrance to the eighth floor. I don't see what the- Oh. Bloody hell. _Run_ you stupid thing! Shit.'

'What?' James hissed, spinning Fred around to face him.

'I think I know why the Map wouldn't lead us there. The only entrance to the eighth floor is there alright, but it's guarded by a Steelheart. No way past him. Wand out and everything – No, _no!_ This way, come back! Oh Helga's tits.'

James heard it from their hiding spot. A small explosion from out in the corridor. If they had heard it from here…

'He saw it. He's coming,' Fred panted, hastily divesting himself of his bag.

James got up, ready to run, to flee. If they were caught by a Steelheart now, the game was over. There was no way that they would reach Rain in time to stop… whatever it was that was going to happen to her.

'No, stay, you two,' Fred hissed, stuffing his pockets with most of the contents of his bag. 'I'll lead him away, try lose him in the castle. This is probably the only chance we'll get to get up there. You two will have to go alone. I'll be fine, these Steelhearts don't know the castle like we do.'

James opened his mouth to protest, but was silenced as Fred thrust his precious bag into his hands.

'Take this, might come in handy. Whatever you do, _don't_ open that main pocket unless things are desperate, and err… point it away from your face if you do.'

James looked down at the bag, wide-eyed, holding it away from his body a little.

Fred shoved past them, pushing them back further into the room and making to close the door behind him. James could hear heavy, booted footfalls echoing down the stairs from without.

'Be safe, Fred,' Holly whispered.

'Safe?' he laughed. 'I'm always safe.'

And with that he was gone, a flash of red hair and dark robes, the door clicking shut softly behind him.

Their numbers were down to two.

They waited a minute in silence, as the sounds of explosions, shouts, and a touch of manic laughter faded, before cracking the door open and peering out to an empty corridor. The pair pushed onwards, around the corner, taking the steps three at a time up to the now-abandoned door to the eighth floor, passing over the small scorch mark on the ground where the Eloping Eyeball had met its end.

As soon as they closed the door behind them, James could tell something was off with the eighth floor. He felt as if the floor was shifting and tilting beneath him, despite the fact that all was calm and still. There was a sense of unease permeating the air, as if it were being exuded from the very stone of the castle itself, a sense of _wrongness._ One look at Holly's face – her left eye now almost swollen shut – told him that she felt it as well.

'C'mon,' she said through gritted teeth, 'let's get going.'

They briefly pored over the Map, but its once-certainty was long gone, and the path it traced for them stopped at the end of the current corridor. One second it was indicating that they should take a door to the left, then the next it switched and told them that they should go straight through, the longer they watched, the more it changed, flickering between alternate routes in response to whatever chaos was going on at the Heart.

The pair shared a worried look. 'One hallway at a time,' James suggested with a shrug. Holly nodded, and they jogged off together, the Map held out before them, grudgingly leading the way.

And so the slow, halting process began of trying to make it to the Heart. The Map was true, in that it kept them away from the other parties who must have been traversing the corridors. They saw nobody in their travels.

The pair would sprint to the end of the corridor, wait for the Map to direct them with any measure of certainty, throw that door open, and repeat the process again. James _thought_ that they were closing in on the Heart, as the sense of wrongness was building, and he was beginning to get a building feeling of desperation, in much the same way that the Heart communicated with him earlier in the year, when it had sent him a primal longing.

Except now he knew, there was no doubt that it was under attack.

Corridors flashed by, and James' breath became laboured from exertion. They passed through dungeon-like corridors, with water pooling in depressions among the uneven pavestones, they passed through corridors whose windows showed an inky black starscape out to both sides, not a cloud in the sky to conceal a hooked, crescent moon. They even passed through a corridor that seemed to be more swamp than castle, wading through knee-deep mire, jumping at noises which seemed to hint at the fact that they weren't alone, and slapping at angrily buzzing mosquitoes. Needless to say, Holly's precious slippers didn't survive that trip.

At the end of a corridor that had been so narrow they had to walk single file, the Map was pointing them to take the door on their left. This time it wasn't changing, and James' heart rate increased. This was it; they must have reached their destination. The impeding sense of desperation and despair that he knew must be coming from the Heart was so strong it threatened to be overwhelming, and he leaned over Holly's shoulder eagerly studying their approach by wandlight.

All of a sudden the Map switched, leading them to the door on the right, showing the footsteps _running._ James knew, above all else, to trust the Map, and so he grabbed Holly's wrist and yanked her through the door, slamming it shut behind them. He collided immediately with the back wall of an empty cupboard, tripping over an upturned bucket, and hitting his head on a stray mop.

'Ow! What the- _Lumos,_ check the Map Holly, what's–'

Footsteps. Outside the door. Two low voices, whispering in hushed tones, words barely carrying to James' straining ears.

'Did you feel that, Glimmer? _Gone_ , just like that. I felt his triumph, he was _there._ The bastard had got through somehow. He had them in his sights, but then…'

'I know… pain, fire… death.'

'But _how_ though? Must have tampered with the Heart, maybe _controlling_ it. That's the only way. If I get my hands on him, I'll rip out his own heart, I'll make him one of us–'

'Easy Brand,' came the soft, husky voice of Glimmer, 'no crime is worth that punishment.'

James shared an awestruck look with Holly; just _what_ exactly were they hearing? Something that was not meant for their ears, surely.

'Either way, I'm giving him the Mark. If we- wait. What's that? Can you smell it? It smells like... _blood.'_

James looked down at his torn sleeve in shock, and in the dim light he saw Holly touching a finger to her bloodied lip. He mentally cursed himself. What in the name of Merlin _were_ these Steelhearts?

The footsteps outside had stopped, and were approaching their cupboard. He slowly, silently drew his wand. Holly tucked the Map away and did the same next to him. As the bootsteps paused outside the door, the two first-years stood there, wands held aloft and ready, in slightly shaky hands, poised to attack two of the scariest, most intimidating _things_ to ever walk the halls of Hogwarts.

James heard a hand rest on the doorknob, and crouched slightly, widening his stance.

The handle turned, the beginnings of a spell were forming on his lips.

Light eked in through the crack in the opening doorway, and together they drew their wand-arms back.

All at once the door was flung open violently, James slashed his wand downwards, but the spell died on his lips. Holly just stood there, dumbstruck.

There was nobody outside.

Now that he thought about it, all sound was gone, he couldn't hear the Steelhearts. Fearing a trap, he stayed in the cupboard, his eyes scanning the corridor for any signs of life, or… _un-_ life perhaps.

He saw nothing. What he did see, however, was that the corridor without, was an entirely different one that the narrow one which they had entered through. He tugged the Map free from Holly's pocket and examined it. It was clearly, unequivocally telling him that they needed to head out, and then left, with the same sort of conviction it had possessed before they were trapped by the Steelhearts.

He knew that it _shouldn't_ have happened like that. Under observation the eighth floor should not be able to change; the door that the Steelhearts had flung open ought to have opened to show them two cowering first-years. Instead, James had no idea the scene that they would have witnessed. Had the eighth floor just _protected_ them?

He had no time to peruse the matter, as Holly had already started off in the direction that the Map was indicating. He picked up the pace to catch up to her, drawing level as they approached the doorway.

Together they placed their hands on the handle, which turned easily beneath their grip.

Black and white tiles was the first thing that James saw. His heart leapt into his throat as the door swung open. There was light – nearly blinding – flickering, and dancing, coalescing for the briefest of moments before splitting apart and shying away again. He shaded his eyes and peered to the end of the corridor.

Three figures.

One, blonde-haired, sprawled on the ground, unmoving, discarded.

A second, suspended in mid-air by sickly purple, black and silver ropes of magic, writhing as if in pain.

And a third, their back facing James and Holly, hooded, tall, both hands pressed up against the door to the Heart, intoning a series of low, guttural noises strung together in a captivating chant.

The door behind them swung shut with a resounding thud, and James heard an unseen bolt slide into place. The hooded figure turned to face them, breaking the chant for a moment.

'I was wondering when you would arrive, _Potter.'_


	25. Chapter 25

James squinted at the hooded figure. _Who-?_

From this distance he had no way of telling. Whoever it was, their hood was still up, and their voice was distorted, coming through the barrier of flickering, magical light sounding mechanical and grating.

Holly took a step forward beside him, and all of a sudden a giant, arcing golden flare rushed out from that seething mass of coruscating light, leaping towards them to engulf them in liquid fire.

Before he could even cry out, something – a kind of translucent barrier – rose from the floor, from the very _stones_ of the castle itself, enveloping them, shielding them from the onrushing wave of burning agony.

The hooded figure screamed in displeasure, the sound like nails on chalkboard to James' ears.

'Who are you to be so Chosen by the castle itself? It offers protection to no one without my consent! You are nothing Potter, _nothing!_ '

James just stood, staring, still in shock from what had appeared to be a near-death experience. He clutched Fred's bag tightly to his chest, as if that could somehow protect him from the rain of silver-limned fire that their attacker could clearly bring down upon them. He looked down at the black-and-white tiles, innocuous once more. How long could _that_ protection last?

But no more attacks hindered the pair as they made their slow, tentative way down the long corridor. The hooded figure seemed content to simply watch them for now, considering him- or herself safe behind that barrier of shifting molten sunlight.

James held a hand up to shield his eyes as they drew nearer. He found himself unable to take his eyes away from the broken forms of his teacher and his friend. From this distance he couldn't see whether or not Professor Meadows was breathing, and that scared him. The way she lay, all awkward angles and stray limbs, was sending jolts of worry jarring through his body with every step. A thin streamer of blood was leaking from the corner of her mouth, tracing a grisly, angular pattern in between the tiles.

Where she lay, she seemed to have been cast aside, thrown out of the way and out of mind. Terrifying images raced through James' mind of grotesque rituals, sucking the life and magic out of her in order to break down her wards on the Heart. He increased his pace, despite the fresh wave of nerves that threatened to overwhelm him.

Rain herself was clearly alive; every so often she would give a jerk and a raw, throat-tearing scream that caused James to break out in cold sweats. She was bound, hands and feet, extended, spread-eagled in mid-air by the very veins of sickness that had been attacking the Heart. Deep, cloudy grey, they glowed with argent light from within, flickering with traces of a vibrant purple. As the pair approached, James let out a gasp – one of those veins was running directly into her _chest._

The way the light flickered and flowed, it looked as if that vein was pumping the sickness into her, as if the attacker was using her as a vessel for all the disease that the Heart contained. James moaned audibly as she threw her head back to the ceiling, eyes rolling in their sockets. Her mouth was open, but no noise was forthcoming, her pain was beyond even that.

The flow was ceaseless, there was no way that a single twelve-year-old girl was able to absorb that much tainted magic, not if she were to survive. As they got closer, James now at a light jog, he saw through the golden barrier, waves and droplets of… _something_ falling off of Rain, crystallizing, and tumbling to the floor.

James squinted desperately through the glow, and immediately found his attention snagged in a vice-like grip by whatever it was that was sloughing off of Rain. They were tiny beads, almost like water, but too clear, too pure. Despite the distance between them, James felt as if he could see every one as if he were mere inches away. He caught himself gazing into their depths, and found them endless, boundless, their entirety travelling on forever, encompassing a part of the entire world, their world, _every_ world.

He gasped, frozen in place. Each one hinted at a memory, a feeling, something even more base and primal, an _instinct._ He watched, enraptured as bead after bead pearled on her exposed skin, breaking free, capturing and reflecting the golden light of the barrier, adding something more to it, something warmer, something more _magical._

And that was when the realisation came to James, of just what exactly he was seeing, what was being ejected forcibly from Rain, from every pore in her body. _It was her magic._

As another droplet crashed into the tiles, shattering into a thousand tiny motes of dust, and glistening momentarily in the electric air James cried out, unable to take it anymore. He felt Holly next to him, with him as he closed the final distance, squeezing his eyes shut and vaulting directly at the barrier which stood between him and the attacker.

The pair barrelled through the air together, rushing onwards, their momentum unable to be stopped. James couldn't open his eyes; he didn't know what to expect. A small part of him was screaming in terror, certain that they were about to be singed to a crisp, or have the flesh flensed from their bodies.

They hit the barrier, and the screaming in James' mind increased tenfold, but now the source was not himself. Whoever it was, _whatever_ it was, was screaming with an intensity strong enough to tear lungs, to ruin bloody throats and cause anyone listening to claw at their ears in desperation. His mind recoiled instantly, drawing back as if scalded, protecting itself, shielded behind all-to-flimsy walls. The sense of being trapped, of being caught in one's final moments of life, washed over James with staggering force. He lived that moment when death had taken over; when he _knew_ that he was finished, yet there was nothing he could do about it. He lived it over and over, seemingly endlessly. Pain and terror blinded him, so that when his feet eventually hit solid ground, he tumbled to the floor in a heap, panting heavily. He heard a soft whimper from Holly next to him, and knew that she must have experienced the same ordeal.

He pushed himself up to see the hooded figure standing over them both. He scrambled desperately for his wand, which he had dropped in the fall, but the figure made no move, only a soft, mocking laughter rumbled forth out of the confines of the hood.

'Why the panic, Potter? We've plenty of time to talk. By the looks of it, we're only a little over halfway through the process.'

James followed the empty gaze of the hood, over to where Rain was hanging in the air. He cried out as he saw the pained expression on her face. Up this close, he could feel the air around her charged to capacity with latent magic. Sparks danced in between the crystalline droplets that cascaded down from her body, flickering through the air, catching James' periphery vision and causing his eyes to dart around wildly in a vain attempt to follow the movement.

He took a step towards her, but immediately felt something unseen force him backwards. Holly grunted next to him, her arms pinned to her sides.

'Not so fast, you two little rascals. We wouldn't want you accidentally interrupting anything now, would we? That could prove most... disastrous.'

James twisted and writhed, pouring all of his strength into working against his invisible bindings, but for all the good he managed to do, he may as well have just remained still.

He could no longer move his head, but could see Holly from the corner of his eye. He was frozen; forced to stare unimpeded at his friend writhing in pain in the air above. Footsteps sounded from behind, and eventually the hooded figure appeared before him, the glint of white teeth and a malicious sparkle of lambent eyes making their way out from under the cowl.

'Your friend, she will not be the same by the time we are done here. She will be... changed. Forever. As will I, I should imagine. Who knows what effect this will have on the Heart; drawing out such power, with which it has been so intrinsically linked for so long. It would be... regrettable, if the Heart became too unstable to continue existing. Should that occur, I daresay that it would collapse in on itself, which would no doubt have quite dire consequences for all of the souls which it harbours within the Echo.'

James' jaw would have dropped, had he been able to move it. The _Echo?_ That theoretical dimension that Cat had been going on about? It actually _existed?_ That must have been where he travelled the last time he was here. A rush of panic was electrifying his body, lending him extra strength and adrenaline, with which he was able to do nothing, bound as he was.

Was what the figure hinted at true? _Could_ it be true? If he destroyed the Heart, would it in turn destroy the castle? If so, what would become of all those who resided in it? His blood flowed cold at the very thought of it.

All of a sudden, the situation seemed like too much for James; he was bound, unable to move, held useless by their attacker as he idly pulled apart the very fabric of the magic of Hogwarts, somehow filtering the disease and destruction through the body of a twelve-year-old girl. He was feeling painfully out of his depth. How had his father managed to face down these odds? His eyes were darting desperately back to the exit, at the far end of the long corridor. He saw no movement beyond the burnished barrier that protected them from any intruders. He found himself desperately hoping that someone would show up – anyone – even the Steelhearts would be welcome right now. This advanced, dangerous magic was their field of expertise. He kicked himself for a fool, thinking that he could take on somebody this powerful.

Beside him, Holly continued to struggle, a wild, coruscating blaze blossoming in her silver eyes, a wordless snarl etched onto her face.

'Such an outcome would inevitably delay future plans, but, as they say, the means justify the end in this case.'

James found the bindings around his jaw had broken free, and he twisted his own mouth into a distasteful scowl. 'What are you talking about?' He gestured towards Rain with his eyes. 'What is she to you? She's just a girl; you'll kill her. Whatever it is, just stop it. Take me instead, please, it's tearing her apart – _look at her for Merlin's sake!'_

The last sentence had come out as a desperate scream, James thrashed against his bindings anew, but to no avail. The hooded figure only laughed a low, rumbling laugh.

'Oh no, Mister Potter, no, no, no. You understand this situation very little, I see. A pity; I had hoped you might have worked it out a little better. There were clues, after all. Plenty of clues.

'But I digress. Who is this girl to me? Why she is everything. To me, to you, to all of us eventually. Listen when I say this, James Potter; this girl is the future. And so it is that it can only be her; it has _always_ only been her. Soon, I hope, you will see it James Potter. Soon, I hope, you will see the situation more clearly, and you will be able to… align yourself with the values that we seek to perpetuate.'

James spat in disgust. ' _Join_ you? You must be insane. I'd rather cut off my own leg–'

A wand blurred into James' view, held inches beneath his nose. The tip was glowing a soft, dangerous red, and a thin streamer of smoke drifted lazily from the tip. James peered into the hood, but could make out little of the face, other than that it belonged to a male. 'That can most certainly be arranged, Mister Potter.'

Holly grunted and screamed next to James, still held fast by the magic that bound her.

'You…' the figure mused. 'You weren't meant to be here tonight. I had thought there were… sufficient measures in place to forestall each of you, so that Mister Potter and I had a chance to talk alone.

Holly was glaring daggers at him, as he paced casually over her. She flinched back as he drew forth a gloved hand, tracing a line along her jaw.

'So much fight, for one so young. A pity.'

James tried to cry out as he saw the wand being drawn, out of Holly's line of sight. He fought desperately to open his mouth and scream – a warning, anything – but the bonds had been reinstated, and he could make nary a whimper as the hooded figure brought his arm up in a diagonal slashing movement. A brilliant flare of silver light flashed across James' vision, and when he could see again, Holly was hanging limp from her bonds.

With a careless wave on his free hand, the figure deposited Holly's body onto the floor, where she fell in a heap, unmoving, lifeless. Desperation and hopelessness were crashing over James in waves, battering him until all that was holding him upright were his invisible bonds. The flash of light kept replaying over and over in his mind's eye, and he couldn't get past the fact that the colour had looked so much like the colour of Holly's eyes.

When the hooded figure released the magic stoppering his voice, James screamed himself hoarse. He cursed the man, swore bloody vengeance, yelled and shouted until his throat ached and his lungs were heaving. All the while, the figure simply bore the brunt of James' barrage without so much as a shudder.

James stood there, his shoulders heaving, lungs drawing in great breaths of air. His eyes kept darting across to Holly's form, laying haphazardly on the floor, face down against the cold tiles.

'Poor Mister Potter,' came the mocking voice, 'always getting his friends into trouble. Now look what's happened. Had you come alone, you would have found your path clear, unimpeded, and we could have been exchanging pleasantries over a goblet of pumpkin juice, or perhaps a nice Butterbeer. But alas! We can only work with the hand we are dealt, no?

'But again, I begin to stray from the words which I have been instructed to give you, and so I find myself unable to speak. Please, Mister Potter, _relax.'_

As he said the word, James felt all of the energy instantly sapped from his muscles, and found himself unable to move, even if he had desired. He felt enervated, drained, a cloying sickness tearing at his stomach. He felt like he wanted to be sick, but didn't even have the strength for that.

'Much better. Now, as the process draws to a conclusion, and my time here begins to draw to a close, I am tasked with imparting upon you some knowledge, James Potter. Knowledge, after all, is the most dangerous tool with which we can arm ourselves. Hidden within this knowledge, is a warning. Should you choose to heed it, the future for you and those you love, may not be so clouded after all.

'There is a war coming, Mister Potter. Let me make that abundantly clear. There is a war coming unlike any which the Wizarding World has seen before. For what is peace, but the breath held in between shouts, when false friendships are formed, and alliances made? What is friendship, but an uneasy agreement between equals, to be shattered the moment one loses that status? And, most of all, what is equality, but the enforcement of order where before there was freedom.

'This war will not be like the others, Mister Potter. It will not announce itself with grand gestures, and beating of breast. It will not come before you with an ugly snarl and say "Behold!" No. This is a war that has already begun; it is a war of whispered words and flashing knives, of the subtlest shiftings of power creating great ripples throughout the magical world.

'You will not know which side you are on, James Potter. You will not know which side to choose, but choose you must. If history has told us anything, it is that men like you cannot stay away from war. There will be no good and evil, Mister Potter. There will be no wrong and right. Cast aside your moral compass, for it will be shattered by the time all is said and done.

'Look all around you James Potter. Battle lines are already forming; sides are being chosen, armies are coalescing. The conflict at Hogwarts alone is enough to make it painfully clear. Lenders against R.U.S.T, McGonagall against Renshaw, it is all around us Potter. It is the one fact that we cannot ignore, that all wizards must face. On even the simplest of things we choose sides, Potter. We choose sides and do battle, because it is in our blood. _War_ is in our blood. And soon, very soon, there will be enough of both to satisfy us all.'

James was staring, wide-eyed, trying to will strength back into his lethargic muscles. He understood less than half of what this mad-man was saying. War? There was no way. Supporters of Voldemort had been rounded up, imprisoned, exiled, ostracised. Contentment within the magical community was at an all-time high; International relations were almost all excellent. These were the phrases his Aunt Hermione often used to tell him just how _good_ things were for them, and how proud she was of what her generation had achieved.

He cast that train of thought aside for now. He had more pressing issues on his plate. Rain, for one. The flow of tainted magic into her body looked to be slowing down, and some of the droplets that fell from her skin were beginning to appear murky, something dark and foreboding roiling restlessly in their core. James had no idea what that meant, but it chilled him to the core to witness it.

The figure before him threw back his head in manic laughter, and with it he tossed back the hood. Revealing for the first time, his features.

Long dark hair, falling just above the shoulders, and tied back loosely with a tattered leather strip, framed an angular, pointed face. A hint of a beard shadowed the narrow jawline, and clung to sunken cheeks, offered some false semblance of depth. A thin slash of a mouth was drawn up in a mocking sneer, revealing a hint of brilliant white teeth. Cold, angular eyes held no hint of the smile, and instead regarded James coolly and levelly from deep within their sunken sockets.

James had never seen him before in his life.

Despite that fact, and despite the fact that this man had possibly just killed his favourite professor and one of his best friends, and was about to do who-knew-what to another, James felt himself inexplicably drawn to him, wanting to trust him, believe him. To _side_ with him. It was something in the eyes, some familiarity that he couldn't place, something very much like kinship that glinted out at him from that cold, hard gaze. It was a light that James couldn't help but hold on to, wrap around himself. It was a light that made him feel _safe._

He laughed at the consternation and confusing waging war on James' face.

'Disappointed, Potter? Thought you'd recognise me? Thought I might have been one of your little sworn enemies? Surely not Lynch. Possibly Renshaw? I hear she hasn't been the most popular pick, but pioneers rarely are, to begin with. Change scares people. No? Perhaps… The Enchantress?'

James flinched in spite of himself. Mocking laughter chastised him.

' _That_ wench? She can barely light a candle by herself, let alone orchestrate what I have, this past year. Thinks she runs the show now Aunt Tia is in charge. _Pah!_ She is nothing.'

He was at a loss now, completely stymied as to who this figure was before him. Right up to the point where he had drawn down the hood, James had been holding on to the certainty that it had been Wren who had been the one. It made the most sense, he had been _sure_ of it. But his eyes did not lie; this was not a magic similar to that which Silk and Deep-Voice had possessed, whereby their faces changed with the flitting shadows, this was a real face, he was sure of it. But who in Merlin's name _was_ it?

'She once thought to attempt to harness the Heart's power, but her efforts were little more than a child floundering about with a bat, when the task required the precision of a surgeon with a scalpel. She is…'

… _kin…_

James started. His eyes darted around wildly. The voice of the man before him was prattling on. Clearly not the source of the voice which had resonated within him.

… _I fight…_

… _I die…_

James cast his eyes wildly across to Rain, droplets of blood now beginning to ooze out of her pores alongside her magic. The very essence of her life being stripped away.

 _...brethren, come to me…_

… _fight…_

… _for me…_

James' eyes followed the tendrils of chaotic, twisted magic from Rain's body, along to where they were sucking the life from the Heart itself. The slab of stone which acted to the door was visibly crumbling before his eyes, the golden hue reduced to a dull brass, criss-crossed by virulent flowing bands of sickness, growing ever wider. He jerked in alarm. _The Heart._

It was the Heart speaking to him, and it needed his help. He fought against his bindings, as his captor paced idly, still monotonously rambling on about the inferiority of Wren's effort, and his own genius at harnessing the power of the Heart.

 _I need help._ James desperately thought, trying to contact the Heart in some way. _Get me free, and I'll help you. I promise._

The madman's rant was beginning to draw to a close. The flow of magic into Rain was decreasing markedly, and the flow of blood from her was increasing alarmingly. James fought desperately at the magical bonds, working methodically to try and free even a single arm, but it was no use.

 _...patience, brethren…_

 _I don't have time for patience! My friends are dying, I need to act!_

… _not dying, changing… patience…_

James looked down at the puddle of blood forming beneath Rain's body. He was less than assured.

His captor turned from his pacing and began to approach James. His lips were moving, but James was unable to hear. Something about his bond with the Heart was making hearing in the real world difficult. James watched with growing trepidation as the madman came to within a foot of his own trapped body, raising his wand to point it directly at Rain. The flow of magic had all but stopped completely, now.

The man had the unmistakable posture of a wizard about to cast a spell. James was screaming, unsure if any noise was even coming out. His throat was raw, his muscles were burning.

 _Now, brethren! To me!_

All of a sudden there was a brilliant flash of light, and a great, resonating _boom_ so loud that it shook dust from the ceiling. James' attacker clapped his hands over his ears instinctively, and James leaped forward, filled with hope at the dispersal of his bonds. He began to sprint towards Rain, a force driving him, telling him that was what he needed to do. He was almost there, when an iron-like grip latched on to his ankle, sending him tumbling to the ground. He looked back desperately, to see the attacker with a cruel smile twisting his features.

'Oh no you don't, Potter! None of your father's tricks this time, you are no chosen one!'

James kicked and flailed, but the grip didn't falter, cutting in to his ankle. James could feel a bruise already forming, his joint creaking in protest at the abuse. He fumbled for his wand, in the process dislodging Fred's bag from where it had been strapped to his body. It fell before him, half open.

He spluttered, half in fatigue, half in pain, swatting the bag towards his attacker in an act of desperation, with the wild hope of distracting him long enough to reach his wand. As the satchel flew through the air, the top pocket sprung open, with a small _wee._

And all hell broke loose.

A _whoosh_ of fire roared out the top of the bag, followed by the loudest, most violent firework display James had ever witnessed. The air came alive with light and sound. Whirling sparks and diving flames lit up the monochromatic corridor in a blinding haze of light. Every time a firework made contact with the strands of dark magic which bound Rain, they would morph into something more sinister, rich, black and silver flames erupting for the briefest of seconds, before burning themselves out from the sheer release of energy.

In amongst it all, a small, squishy black object shot gleefully from its confines.

James felt the grip on his ankle release for less than a second, but it was all that he needed. He kicked free, pushing himself upright and sprinting the last few steps to Rain. Unthinking, he reached out a hand, and gripped one of the strands of magic, as if to pull it from her manually.

Great, smoky black wings unfurled from Rain's body, sprouting from her back like an angel of death. Her eyes, which had been scrunched shut, snapped open to lock onto James, and they were filled with blood. James tried to scream, to step backwards, but was unable to break contact with the powerful strand of magic. He looked back desperately, to see his once-attacker now under attack himself, waylaid by a score or more angry Weasley Wildfire Whizbangs, and trying fruitlessly to tug one of Fred's tentacled face-suckers off of his visage.

James had the chance to see no more, as the wings of night came down around him, encompassing him wholly, shutting out all sound and light. Immersing him in total darkness.

But this time, it _wasn't_ total darkness.

He opened his eyes, or what served for eyes in this abstract realm, and he could _see._ Although he wasn't so sure that made the situation any better. Instead of the all-encompassing darkness from last time, there were flickers of pale light, cracks radiating outward wherever he looked. They appeared as fast as he turned his head, bright silver and purple flashes of light, spiderwebbing across the surface of his entire universe. Everywhere he looked, as if just by _looking_ he was shattering the stillness, the peace of this realm.

Light flickered from within the cracks, as if there was a great storm of magic roiling behind each one, held at bay by the flimsy skein of blackness that seemed to be all that was holding this world together. Resounding crunches and thuds rattled right through James' body, like great chucks of ice grinding and cracking beneath his very feet.

He moved his hand in front of his face; saw nothing. He _was_ nothing, in this realm, only consciousness. The riddled darkness stretched on beyond him in every direction, as far as he could see. The shafts of light from the cracks were drowning out the star-like glows that he had seen last time, the manifestations in this realm of every student and teacher protected by the wards of Hogwarts, every human being held dearly within her Heart.

James darted about through the space wildly, following the cracks, trying to trace them back to the source. Chunks of what he could only call the sky were shifting and heaving all around him, groaning on a scale unimaginable in any realm but this one. It was as if the fabric of the very world around him was being rent apart, crushed and warped by an outside force. He had no frame of reference from which to judge, but he was sure that had he been standing on a surface, there would have been violent earthquakes rocking through him, casting him to the ground like the tiny speck of insignificance he was in this alien world.

His eyes caught on to a thick vein of fracturing above him, a broad zone which could be miles or metres wide, he was unable to tell, but it was the provenance of most of the smaller cracks and fissures that criss-crossed the sky around him. He rushed towards it – there was no sense of wind whipping by, but he could _feel_ the world shift around him, as if he was shifting through on an entirely different level than the physical. His willpower alone was what guided him.

As he neared the great fracture, the light began to blind him, so foreign and invasive, in this world of darkness, peace and stability. He flew alongside it, tracing it back to its source, hoping, _willing_ his assumption to be right, that it would lead him to the heart of all of this sickness. He had no plan for when he got there, sure that he would just _know_ , like he had known to grab hold of the vein running into Rain's chest; it had just _felt_ like the right thing to do.

He gave a disembodied scream that was dead before it even left what would have been his lips, as a chunk of the sky detached itself right next to him, tumbling down, end-over-end into infinite space. He swore, but had no time to stop and assess the damage; the world around him was being torn asunder. If he were trapped in here when it all fell apart… There was no telling just what would happen to him, or Rain for that matter. Two lifeless bodies, most likely, all consciousness and magic drained from them; the husks of what had once been two promising young students.

He tried to tear his mind away from the thought, from the image of Holly's body lying there next to Professor Meadows, their arms outstretched as if trying to reach each other in their final, dying moments. The silver-grey flash, and Holly crumpling before it replayed over and over in his mind. His failure to protect her. Allowing her to come with him. He had _known_ that he should have done it alone. He had no idea of Fred's fate, either, or what justice the Steelhearts would mete out upon him. It was unlikely to be kind. They might even think he was part of the attack on the Heart. Scenes of Fred's body rose to greet him, spread-eagled and covered in blood, a grisly, mocking heart carved upon his breast, the grinning hood of a Steelheart standing over him, turning to face James, an arm reaching out, whispering ' _you're next…'_

He hadn't realised, but he had ceased moving through the abyss. His consciousness was static, hovering nearby the giant fissure rending the sky in two. He might have been mere inches from it, or he could have been hundreds of yards; physical distance was irrelevant in this realm. It was state of mind that mattered here, and James had fallen into a dangerously self-destructive one.

All around him now, great shards of existence were tearing loose, fragments that may have been the size of countries, worlds even, broke free, cascading around him, in whatever direction was _down._ If he had cast his eyes to the right, he would see the source of all the fractures, the heart from which this destructive lifeblood flowed. All were within a theoretical arms reach. All were branching out from a single point of weakly flickering starlight, faded now from burning silver to a dull grey, barely noticeable against the marred pitch backdrop.

Rain.

She may as well have been a universe away, for all the good James could do now.

Holly's sightless eyes. Fred, cut down from behind by a rampant Steelheart. Tristan taking a spell meant for James himself, blood fanning out in a burning red arc. Cassie, turned to solid gold and shattered into a million pieces. Clip, unable to cast a spell when he needed it most, being burned away to nothingness as a wave of fire rushed over him. Cat, her body fading to smoke, drifting away on a stray breeze with a wistful smile and the hint of a longing sigh upon her lips.

Images of his friends' demise replayed over and over in his head. His worst fears laid bare for him to see. He was _forced_ to see; he could not back away. Always, always at the end, each one would rise, and their deformed, twisted faces would look at him across the barrier of death. And they would all accuse.

It was his fault. All of it. He was going to fail. He had already failed, because he wasn't fast enough, or powerful enough, or just plain smart enough to realise that _this wasn't a job for twelve-year-old wizards to do._

An image of Rain blossomed in his mind. He recoiled internally – his greatest failure yet – but she was not dead or dying. It was the scene of the first time that their eyes had met, across the Great Hall during the sorting. She had just produced the most exhilarating sorting of any student in recent memory, and then simply strode down the aisle as if nothing happened. James was watching her, as if he were _there_ all over again. He was waiting for it; expecting it, their gazes to lock momentarily. In three steps' time, two, one-

Eyes that had once been seafoam-green were now blood-red; the whites stained, the pupils mere slits of the deepest black. James tried to claw backwards, but couldn't move his body. Her gaze bored into him, through him, and in his mind, she spoke.

'Turn back, James. Please. It is too dangerous for you to continue. I have made peace with what I have done. Be free of guilt, James. You will be needed in years to come. Be free.'

With the last syllable, the image around him dispersed, like smoke in the wind. James found himself floating in the abyss once more, the chaos raged on all around him, the sounds were almost unbearable, but his mind was clear; he possessed a sharpness, a purity that he never had before. The invisible ties of guilt and self-loathing that had bound him, and had been drawing him ever deeper into the great fissures had been snapped, and he was free, _free_ to fly through this universe as if he were its very creator.

He looked around himself, immediately spotting the source of all of this sickness, and the dimming star that was Rain. He zoomed towards it, no longer a care for his own safety. He knew now that in this realm, he was a God. The brightness of the cracks closed in all around him as he approached. Great chunks of sky were shifting, spinning and collapsing before him, but he sped past them all, nimbly weaving through as if he were merely flying through a mundane canyon, no care for what disastrous, world-ending effects might come from being pulled into one of them.

As James approached Rain's star, he let it fill his vision, swelling before him until it _was_ his world, and all that he could see was a rounded disc of dull, burnished grey, pulsing slightly against the blackness. Every single fissure in the universe around him had its root in the centre of this star, sprouting forth from it like some grotesque floral arrangement. The all pulsed softly, in time with the crackling and rumbling in the sky around him. He hovered over to examine the source; a nondescript spot on the surface of what, in essence, was Rain's consciousness, her very _soul,_ perhaps.

James looked, he zoomed in, peered with his mind as close as he could, trying to find the spot where Rain ended and the sickness began, but no matter how close he got, the boundary line eluded him. It was as if Rain now _was_ the sickness, that the cracks now dominating the night sky above him were a part of _her_. The thought terrified James. He tried to lash out at the cracks, to hack and cut them away from her, but whatever he sent against them seemed unable to make contact, simply passing through unhindered. He battered and cursed at them, throwing all of his newfound strength at them, but they continued on as if he wasn't even there.

All this time, Rain's star was slowly fading. Throwing caution to the wind, James tried to dive into the spot where they originated from, tossing his mind forward, into the core of the roiling, chaotic maelstrom, but again to no avail. He would have screamed, had he the lungs. He was so close, he had _made it,_ only to watch her life ebb away through the gaps in his fingers. He threw himself again and again at the radiating silvery light, willing the tide to cease, the pulsating to stop, to break free and disintegrate within the abyss.

He looked down at the star below him, barely discernible at all now from the blackness around it. It flickered so weakly, like the faintest heartbeat. Two, three times.

Then it went out.

James screamed, driven to near madness, he flung himself at the spot where it had been, where he could _just_ barely see the faintest afterimage in his eyes. He flung himself into it, _really_ into it, taking up the space that it occupied, wrapping it around himself, drawing it in until he _was_ that star.

The pain was instant, and it was severe.

He didn't know where he was, _when_ he was, or even what he was. He was trapped, in a place one person should _never, ever_ be: Inside somebody else's mind. He couldn't think; brief bursts of light were flashing past every second, blinding him, and disorienting him completely. He couldn't move; he had no control over this body, this mind. He was an outsider here, an alien. All that he could do was bear witness to pain, true pain, as a soul was torn asunder before him.

He cast his gaze around in the hazy fog. Brief flashes, memories, perhaps, dashed past him. Scenes of school, of students like himself. But then there were scenes of a different nature; images of war, of fighting, of love and lust and laughter and heartbreak and tears and hatred. Over and over they played out before him, flickering past faster and faster. Hundreds, _thousands_ of lives played out in the space of seconds before him. All were seen through the eyes of a girl or a woman, a dictator or a labourer, friend or enemy, and all ended with the same sense of resounding futility that was the crushing weight of death.

James spun as the images flickered past, taking them all in, forced to bear witness to the myriad images of life and death. He found himself able to move now, and drifted amongst the fog, as if floating through dense undergrowth in a forest. Lights flashed by on either side, but he focused on shutting them out, ignoring the distractions, narrowing his attention down onto a constant source of light, far off in the distance. He drifted towards it, ever assailed. As he neared it he felt the pain and anguish growing, ever stronger. There was an inherent sense of _wrongness_ about it, something otherworldly; something that didn't belong. He reached out with a disembodied arm, but again was unable to make contact. He was sure that this was the source of it all, this tiny, knotted ball of light, pulsing gently, feeding on the fog; the memories, the life force of this mind which he was in. Rain's life force.

He peered into the depths of the hole, and saw utter nothingness. The pain this close was nearly unbearable. He found himself screaming in time with the pulsing of light, as the last of Rain's life drained away. He could see it now, the end. There was a finite flow of memories, and it approached this great chasm before him, this universe that was Death, concentrated down into something little more than the size of a soccer ball.

All around its edges, the fabric of Rain's mind was torn and tattered, flapping wildly in buffeting winds that James could not feel. He reached out to run what should have been his fingers along the tear, and flinched back. They were crackling, sparkling with pure magic. Even as he watched, the disturbance that he had made was sealed up slowly, the fabric of her consciousness knitting itself back together with the last vestiges of magic left at her disposal.

Beneath the crushing waves of pain, James' eyes widened in realisation. He knew what he needed to do to seal the breach, to stop this terrible flow, and bring an end to whatever the hell it was that was happening to the Heart. He sat, or floated next to the rend. He could see the end of her stream of consciousness fast approaching, so he worked as quickly as was possible, but this was bound to be a delicate task. A task that very likely would kill him, even if he performed it correctly.

If magic was what was needed to seal the breach, then James would give her magic. As much of it has he could, _all_ of it, if that was what was needed. He only hoped that it would be enough. He steadied his breathing, attempted to still his beating heart-that-wasn't, and opened himself up to his magic.

He sought the feeling he felt when he was just about to cast a spell, the split-second feeling of exhilaration and energy as the magic rushed through him, channelled by the power of his wand. He tried to force himself to the brink, to dive in to the deep, sweet current that was the flow of his magic. A faint tingling began, as if in the tips of his fingers. It began to spread up what would have been his arms, heading towards his core. For the briefest of seconds, he opened himself up to his surroundings, thinking he had a grip on it. The end of the line was rushing towards him at a frightening pace. He could see it now, the final memory, the last one in the seemingly endless queue.

It was a mirror; a mirror greater than anything he had ever seen. Intricately carved and radiating power. He looked into the mirror and saw a terrified face staring back. Not his face, not anybody's face that he knew. He couldn't even tell if it were male or female. The face was contorted into a mask of sheer terror, mouth open in a silent scream, hands clawing desperately at eyes. It was the face of Death.

The Mirror shattered.

Magic roared to life in James, rushing through his veins, flowing through his body which wasn't there. It flowed through him like nothing he had ever felt, it was more than he had ever imagined possible. The pain shifted, no longer from without, it was now from inside him, as the force of the power he struggled to control began to tear him apart. He watched the power flow from him, rushing endlessly, gleefully into the void from whence all of this darkness was stemming, dragging pieces of James with it.

He felt his mind begin to break up; he could no longer keep track of his thoughts, what he was doing, where he was. The power continued, an entire life-force worth of magic. Onwards it pressed, ever onwards.

Fill the void.

Heal the wound.

Cleanse the soul.

The power was too much for James to hold, he knew it. It tore at his mind, until he didn't know if it was him screaming, or it was all in his head. He felt himself falling, rushing away from the void, from his magic which continued to pour forth. He felt something _tear_ within him, and with a final, jarring release, he was cut free.

Black wings withdrawing.

He stumbled, feeling solid ground beneath his feet once more.

A body, red-gold hair fanned about in a faintly glowing halo. Lying in a pool of her own blood.

Panic, desperation. Clutching for his wand.

Breathing. Blessedly, _beautifully_ breathing.

Shouts, footsteps. Hooded figures.

 _No!_

Drawing his wand. Fight… hoods

Nothing.

No magic.

Fear, ice cold.

Staggering, hand on a pillar for support.

Brilliant red jet of light.

Nothing, once more.


	26. Chapter 26

The instinctive sense that another human was nearby jerked James awake with a yell of fright.

He looked up, confusion at his surroundings overwhelming him. He was propped up in a bed in what must have been the Hospital wing. Soft pillows threatened to engulf him in their over-eager embrace, and a blanket was pulled up to his waist, tucked in tightly to the bed so that he didn't think he could have moved even if he had wanted. He felt a foreboding sense of déjà vu. Something about being bound and helpless…

He looked down and started as he realised that he was naked from the waist up, a dressing wrapped firmly around the cut on his upper arm, and a pungent salve coating his chest and stomach, doled out generously over a criss-cross of bruises and minor cuts.

As his gaze rose, searching frantically for a shirt of some kind, he let out a strangled squeal. There, perched gracefully on the end of his bed as if it were a throne, was Headmistress Renshaw. How had he missed _her?_

'No need to be alarmed, Mister Potter, it's best to let the wounds breathe, or so I have been told. How are you feeling?'

James looked at her a little wildly. He cast his gaze around the room, still with little idea of what was going on. His memory seemed foggy, like the things he was trying to recall kept slipping out of his grasp like mist through his fingers.

He was in a sectioned-off area of the hospital wing, the furthest from the main doors. Tall partitioning curtains hung limply in mid-air, suspended by magic, around his bed and one other. He looked over at his room-mate, and saw a raven-haired figure surrounded by cushions, her eyes closed, almost peacefully.

'Holly!' he croaked. His throat felt raw. He tried to push off his blankets and rush over to her side, but even the act of sitting upright sent a violent wave of dizziness crashing down upon him, forcing him to lie back, a hand covering his eyes.

'There, there, Mister Potter. Miss Brooks is doing just fine. She has been cared for, and is in no danger. All that she needs now is rest, and plenty of it.'

James looked up at the Headmistress in alarm. 'She- she's ok? I thought… I thought I saw…'

He cast his mind back, trying to recall exactly _what_ it was that he had seen. There was an overwhelming sense of relief that Holly was safe, something from deep within him was rejoicing, almost as if she had been brought back from the dead. But his memory… He couldn't recall anything of the sort. He couldn't recall _anything_ , not with any semblance of clarity.

Flashes whipped by, too fast to latch on to. Hooded cowls, bursts of silvery light, and blood… So much blood. A body, broken, lying surrounded by blood, strawberry-blonde hair-

 _LIES._

He jumped in fright, sending a twinge of pain shooting down his side. He looked up at the Headmistress, but she was simply smiling patiently down at him, evidently content to wait for him to gather his wits.

A small frown appeared on his brow, as he strained to remember. It was like trying to bring back the events of a dream; so elusive and fragmented were his thoughts.

Fighting Lynch in the corridor; the Map, and Holly's black eye; sneaking through the castle; Fred, manic laughter dancing along the hallway as an irate Steelheart tried to track him down; the two of them, almost getting caught by another pair of Steelhearts in the eighth floor; the Heart, the black-and-white tiled corridor…

Here, his memory seemed to bifurcate before his mind's eye.

A hooded figure, golden fire-

 _LIES._

Three figures standing, trapped at the entrance to the Heart.

Yes, that was right, now he remembered.

Brilliant, sparkling drops of liquid moonlight cascading down from the body of a friend, suspended in mid-air by tendrils of tainted magic, her eyes-

 _LIES._

Steelhearts, running into the corridor behind them, confronting the attackers, shoving James and Holly aside. Falling to the floor, pain in his ribs.

That seemed much more reasonable.

A flash of silver, crumpled bodies. War, war is coming. A pointed face, dark hair and eyes that seemed so familiar-

 _LIES._

Holly, hit by a stray spell from the attackers. Steelhearts driving them back, separating Rain from her kidnappers.

Of course; someone had taken Rain.

 _Rain._ The abyss, the stars. _Her_ star. Her magic. Fractures, sickness. Sacrifice.

 _LIES._

James' head was spinning from confusion. On instinct he dove for his wand, casting a _Lumos_ spell. The effort drained him, and he felt physically weak, but it was there. His magic was still there.

Of course it was, why would it not be?

His mind agreed; that was all the evidence he needed. The cruel tricks his mind was playing on him, showing him his worst fears through twisted images of struggle, his friends hurt, must have been his imagination.

Headmistress Renshaw continued to smile down at him.

'You seem confused, Mister Potter. What is the matter? Why don't you tell me what happened that night, tell me everything that you can _remember.'_

And so James did, recounting the experience which his mind had just worked out was the correct one: Steelhearts coming to the rescue. Rain, captive. Holly, hit by a stray spell. He finished up, his mouth speaking the words, telling the story before his mind could even process it. He told of his rage at seeing Holly hurt, jumping in to the fight, only to be struck down immediately.

Headmistress Renshaw was smiling a very comforting smile by the end of it.

'I think there is a lesson there, is there not? That first-year students ought not to involve themselves in matters such as this. It was only through the brave and courageous actions of my Steelhearts that you both were able to be saved.

'Let me make this clear to you, Mister Potter, for I will only tell you once. The Hogwarts you thought you knew, the Hogwarts that your parents filled your mind with romanticised tales about, that Hogwarts is gone. It heaved its last, shuddered breath the moment McGonagall walked out that door. I am here to usher in a new era in magical Britain, and that era has no room for children putting themselves at _unnecessary risk_ because they have inherited a hero complex from their fathers.

'Do I make myself clear?'

James' cheeks burned hot with embarrassment. What had he been thinking? He looked down at his knees, too ashamed to meet the Headmistress' eyes. He felt a hand rest firmly on his shoulder, and looked up to see her smiling down at him again.

'Do not be ashamed, Mister Potter. Your actions were brave and noble; Godric Gryffindor himself would have been proud to have you in his House. I merely advise caution, in the future.

'Worry not that you will be trapped beneath the heavy boot of your fathers' legacy. He left us a world of dust, from which we have begun to rebuild. Seek not to make your name through acts of violence, for in this age it is the Champions of Peace who shall be remembered most fondly.

'It is a simple man who chooses to die nobly for a cause, Mister Potter. It takes a great man indeed to choose to live humbly for one. Think on that, Mister Potter, for there are more ways to become legend than by picking up a wand in the name of anger, no matter how righteous you believe your cause to be.'

James was left trying to make sense of her words, as she placed her hand gently, almost motherly, on his cheek, and stood to leave. Her footsteps began to fade before a thought occurred to James, and he called out after her.

'Headmistress, wait! My friends, where- how are they?'

'Of course, how remiss of me to forget.' At this point she returned to his bedside, and the smile on her face slipped away, replaced by something grave. 'They are well, for the most part. Young Master MacMillan was up and about in no time, though I'm afraid Master Weasley cannot stay away from this place. You see, his actions cost him a great deal of points for his house. At this stage in the year, I'm sure that you can imagine the ramifications that has had on Gryffindor's chances of winning the House Cup.'

James swallowed nervously. He hadn't even _thought_ about House points; it seemed so _stupid_ in context, to be worried about something like that, when lives were on the line.

'As for Miss Rain… She has been transferred to St Mungo's, where she will remain for the rest of the school year, at least. She sustained some injuries, the effects of which may prove to be irreversible. Nevertheless, she is alive, and she has you to thank for that.'

Something about that sent chills through James. Something wasn't right; in his recollection of events he never saw anything this dire happen to Rain. A tiny, desperate voice was crying out in the back of his mind, but beneath the Headmistress' warm smile, he found he couldn't bring himself to find the energy to pursue it.

'What- what about the professor?' James asked weakly.

A small frown of consternation shot across Renshaw's features, there and gone again so fast that James thought that he may have been imagining things. She pursed her lips, casting a surreptitious gaze about the room, as if concerned about people overhearing them.

'Zoe likewise will not be returning to us this year. Fear not; her injuries were not grave, she has simply seen fit to take the time off to re-evaluate her position as a member of staff here at Hogwarts, and attempt to re-align herself with our core values moving forwards, such as they are.'

James just frowned at the Headmistress, he had understood roughly one-in-five of those words.

Renshaw sighed. 'We cannot continue to employ a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor who is unable to defend our students from the Dark Arts, Mister Potter. Miss Rain was put directly in the line of danger as a results of Zoe Meadows' actions, and as such, that will be a factor in the upcoming review and investigation into her role in the attack.'

All the rest of what Renshaw had been saying flew out the window as far as James was concerned when she came to that last sentence.

'Her _role_ in the attack?' He shoved himself angrily upright in his bed, causing a wave of dizziness to assault him, and his vision to swim before his eyes. 'How can you think she would have _any_ part in it? She would have been trying to _protect_ Rain. That's ridiculous, that's–'

'That's enough, Mister Potter. I won't ask you again to not raise your voice at your Headmistress.'

He slunk back into his pillows, the razor-sharp edge to her voice cutting through his defiance, and in his weakened state he could only remain outraged for so long. Tiredness was beginning to creep in now, blurring the corners of his mind, making thinking straight that much harder. The part of him that was insisting that something was amiss was quickly being lost to the haze, Headmistress Renshaw's face was all that he could focus on, kind yet firm, her eyes boring into him, as if they could see _into_ him, into his very mind.

'I have saved this bit of information 'till last, Mister Potter, in the hope that you will go back to resting once I have left and not tarry on it overmuch.

'The reason that Miss Meadows is under investigation is because the attacker was a known accomplice of hers. One with whom she had recently become… involved.'

James froze. The scene flashed before him.

Eyes so familiar.

An inexplicable sense of kinship.

A feeling of trust.

The room was fully spinning before him. He clutched at his covers, grabbing a handful of blankets, scrambling back from the Headmistress, as if putting distance between them would stop the news she was about to deliver. He was shaking his head, though he wasn't aware of it. A pained expression flashed across Renshaw's features for a brief moment. She lifted her hand, as if to reach out to him, but let it fall back to her side again.

'James, the attacker has been identified as Teddy Lupin. I- I'm sorry.'

He felt like he'd been punched in the chest. Repeatedly. He felt winded, he clutched at his throat, gasping in deep, ragged breaths which couldn't seem to force back the feeling that he was drowning. The fuzziness at the edge of his vision was increasing, becoming a deep, grey smog through which he could not see. His vision swam, tears formed in his eyes, blurring the scene before him until all he could make out was the vague form of Galatea Renshaw as she stood up to leave, framed from behind by angelic light arcing down through the window.

She murmured something to James, but he was unable to focus on it. He was clawing his way up the bed still, twisting and beginning to thrash in his covers, railing against the news, trying to fight it off as if it possessed a physical manifestation. Before him, the blurry figure of the Headmistress produced something dark from her pocket, directed it at James.

He was halfway up the wall now, his legs ensnared by the tangled and snarled sheets. That was the only thing stopping him from getting up and running. Where, he had no idea, but somewhere that was _away._ Somewhere, anywhere that wasn't here in this very moment where his brother was a murderous, evil world-destroyer.

The dark object jerked rapidly in his direction, and the Sleep Hex hit him square in the chest, knocking him out instantly. Galatea Renshaw lingered her gaze on the tormented figure before her for a second longer, before drawing up her hood, placing her wand away, and gliding from the room, her features impassive, two broken children left in her wake.

It was several days later when James finally opened his eyes again. The sounds of hushed, nervous chatter surrounded him. He blinked several times to focus his bleary vision. Moonlight was streaming in through a window opposite his bed, lighting up his knees. The partition surrounding his and Holly's beds was still up, except this time there were other bodies, he counted five of them, all of whom were engrossed in their own conversations, and hadn't noticed his stirring.

By the low, flickering torchlight he made out the shadowed features of Clip, Cat, Cassie, Tristan and Fred, who was holding something green and pulsating to a rather impressive black eye.

James coughed twice. 'So have you guys come to see me, or was this place just a nice spot for a chat?'

Cassie let out a small shriek, before clapping her hand over her mouth. A cry rang out from the back office about keeping the noise down, but James hardly heard it, as he was assaulted from all angles by as many of his friends as could fit on his narrow, cot-like bed. Cassie had latched on to his arm, and in a very un-Cassie like display of affection was refusing to let him go. Fred kept poking him in various places, asking if it hurt. To check if he had been properly Healed, he said, but James was a little sceptical that that was the generally accepted method.

Madam Petheridge interrupted their reunion to warm them that they had only a half hour before curfew, and that she didn't care how long that they had been waiting to see them, she would personally chase them all out with a broom if they didn't leave to give him rest.

Cat stood at the foot of the bed, in the same spot that Headmistress Renshaw had been standing what seemed like just moments ago to James. For a moment, framed as she was by the brilliant moonlight, her tall figure standing straight, long hair glistening like a blazing halo, James had a terrible flashback to that dreaded moment, the death-knell that had rung out as _she_ had told him the news. He reached forward and grabbed Cat's hand, pulling her into an awkward sitting hug. Anything to get her away from _her_ spot.

Cat rubbed his back gently. She smelled of flowers. James wasn't sure which sort; all of them, probably. Her long, silver-blonde hair curtained down over his face, pooling in his lap. He was shivering slightly, which had nothing to do with the cold, but Cat's warm presence, and the soothing noises that she made in his ear, soon calmed him down enough. When they parted, she favoured him with a private look of such compassion that he felt the smile creep across his face once more, firmly reaffixing itself in the presence of his friends.

The group traded stories until and beyond the aforementioned curfew. Madam Petheridge evidently seemed content to let them linger a while longer. They pestered James for every detail of his escapades, and he did so in return. They handed him no fewer than a dozen letters from members of his family, which ranged from stern admonishment (Aunt Hermione) to unabashed awe (Uncle Ron) and back to insincere reprimands (Uncle Ron again, after Aunt Hermione found out what he wrote in the first letter). The one common undertone that they all did share, however, was their professed certainty of Teddy's innocence. None of them were ready to believe it, and they had all, Aunt Hermione in particular, been working double-overtime at the Ministry to help clear his name. Currently he was being held under guard, and undergoing questioning below the Ministry.

James breathed a sigh of relief, at least they hadn't tried to ship him off to Azkaban, or worse, had the Dementors kiss him already. That news lifted some of the weight from his chest, as he knew that if there was anyone capable of clearing Teddy's name, it would be Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. And Ron Weasley, too, of course.

It made sense, Cassie insisted, that Teddy was innocent. All of the other attacks had been undertaken by individuals under the Imperius Curse. She reasoned that there was no cause to think that this instance was any different. Cat suggested that Renshaw just wanted the glory of catching the true attacker.

It seemed she hadn't mellowed in that regard, at least.

It was with a far lighter heart, that James bade farewell to his friends that evening, with the promise of a return to action shortly. He even thanked Cassie for the books she had brought down, to help him study in the meantime. A month until final exams was plenty of time, he told himself.

As the doors to the Hospital Wing ground shut with a low thud, Madam Petheridge turned to James with a kind smile. 'Take this one, dearie, it'll help you sleep until morning. You're probably well enough to get back out there tomorrow, if you'd like, but I understand if you need another day or two.'

James swallowed the bitter potion with a grimace; instantly he felt his limbs grow thrice as heavy, and a dull stupor settle over his thoughts.

'I want… wait until Holly wakes up,' he managed, though his tongue seemed too heavy and thick to form words.

'Miss Brooks? She has been up and about the past two days, Mister Potter. I should have thought your friends would have mentioned it. They were talking to her earlier. She will likely be out shortly after- _Mister Potter what are you doing?!'_

At mention of Holly having been awake James had tossed the covers clean off, throwing himself out of bed. His muscles screamed in protest, having spent so long unused, and the Sleeping Draught threatened to drag him down to the floor, but he stumbled the four steps to Holly's bed, throwing himself crossways across the top of her, too tired to give her a proper hug.

'Holly…' he groaned, fighting desperately against his eyelids which threatened to betray him and send him fast asleep.

He lost the battle then and there, falling asleep lain across her stomach in a half-hug, half-protective position.

Madam Petheridge pressed a hand softly to her lips, a wide smile splitting her features. She collected the blanket from James' bed and walked over to the two, stooping softly to cover him against the cold that the night would no doubt bring.

'Sleep well, you brave, brave souls. I cannot put into words just how sorry I am.'

The night wore on, and the torchlight eventually died, but two figures, once broken, lay quietly beside each other on a tiny, narrow cot. For now, they were at peace.

The term following events at the Heart passed quickly and steadily. James was feeling strangely drained and hollow throughout the last six weeks of school that was left to them. His mind kept wandering back to his family, and their fight for Teddy's freedom. Owls carrying good news were few and far between, the Ministry blocking them at every turn.

He spent all of his available free time with his friends. Sometimes he studied with them, but mostly he just sat and stared at a fixed point on the page of his book, content to simply be in their presence, relieved that they were all still here, all still safe.

Well, almost all of them.

He vowed to go to St Mungo's as soon as he got home to check on Rain. Maybe she would have some answers about what had happened up there; his version of events seemed increasingly vague with each passing day, like he was recalling a dream rather than an actual memory. Cassie suggested that it may be his brain's coping mechanism to deal with a harrowing ordeal, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite _right._

The week leading up to exams was the groups' first exposure to the Five Stages of Cassandra Featherstone's Anxiety. First came the eating; _everything_ in sight, _constantly_ throughout the day. This was followed by a quick succession of anger, panic and reasoning which left the lot of them treading very cautiously around her. Finally it all gave way to a sort of dreamy detachment that made even Cat seem focused.

Fred started his poking again, prodding her at every available opportunity but eliciting little more than a reactionary jerk. He swiftly decided that something was _very_ wrong, and they shipped her off to the Hospital Wing for the night before exams to make sure that she was in safe hands.

The tests themselves were bearable, although James got horribly confused in History of Magic and started writing about House-Elf reform instead of a Goblin rebellion. He found himself unable to care as much as Cassie, when he told her after the exam. The way she reacted was as if he'd just told her his arms had fallen off.

His mind was still on Teddy, and he was actively counting down the last few days as they crawled by. The final Saturday of the year played host to the final Quidditch match; Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw. The Hydra were finally back, nobody had exams to study for, and so nearly the entire school had turned out to watch.

Gryffindor were well and truly out of the running for the title, and their only prize was pride in this game, which Ryan O'Flaherty had assured them that they would be playing for. Ravenclaw, on the other hand, had the competition within their grasp. If they won the game, and scored at least two hundred sixty points, then the Quidditch Cup was theirs. Any other outcome, and it fell to the Slytherins, a fate that James was eager to avoid, as their star Seeker Odette Mansfield had taken to strutting around the corridors with her entourage in tow, proclaiming loudly how League Scouts were contacting her already.

The day was clear and bright, perfect flying conditions. A slight tail wind was favouring the Gryffindor team, and Ryan was planning to use that to their advantage. The atmosphere in the team locker room before the game was one of hope and excitement for the first time in so long. James got caught up in the cheering and the build-up, leaving the pre-match meeting smiling broadly, arm-in-arm with Fred, eagerly chatting about their impending victory.

Holly, who even now was stiff and sore, limited in her movements, had insisted that they sit in a _normal_ stand for once, and Fred had acquiesced. The pair joined their friends just as the game begun, grabbing their seats in the front row of the stadium, with excited chatter filling the air around them.

The match started in a flurry of activity, both teams intent on leaving everything on the pitch today. The Ravenclaws, led by their star Keeper Aster Ogleby, were intent on claiming the Cup; it would be their first chance in the past ten years.

The score began to mount early on, Ravenclaw hell-bent on scoring those two hundred sixty points that they needed. James cringed as a shot from Lilian Wood went well wide of the left hoop. The Hydra had been banned from all Quidditch activities for over three months, and it showed. Their cuts and turns were sluggish, their passes sloppy, and their shots were off target more often than not. They couldn't keep up with the well-prepared and intensely-focused Eagles, who drew out to an early one hundred points to sixty lead.

James held the barrier in a white-knuckled grip. Cassie, next to him, was watching with wide-eyed excitement, squealing with glee each time Ravenclaw scored. Her usually conservative demeanour had slewed off before the prospect of glory for her House.

'Oi, Potter. What do you reckon the odds are that Fairbourne muffs catching the snitch this time, hey?'

James turned in alarm at the sound of his name being called.

Two rows back, her feet propped up on the chair before her sat Odette Mansfield. How had he missed _her_ when he sat down? He groaned audibly.

'Or is that giving her too much credit? Heck, she might not even _see_ the damned thing.'

James frowned as she stood up, gracefully stepping down a row to move closer. Her straw-blonde hair was tied back in a single braid, drawn down over her shoulder. The robes that she was wearing were surely not school regulation, and revealed her tanned, bare stomach beneath a green-and-silver crop-top. She took the seat directly behind James, relaxing in a very un-ladylike pose with her legs apart, chewing gum idly.

This close James could see the amount of make-up she was wearing, and the bright pink lipstick adorning her lips. A herbal scent washed over him that was far more pleasant than he would ever admit, and she leaned in close to him, her cool, fresh breath sighing against his skin.

'If she asks nicely perhaps I'll give her private lessons. Hell, Potter if _you_ ask nicely perhaps I could do the same…'

The smouldering look she was giving him left him confused and struggling to find words to riposte her jabs.

'I'm looking forward to getting you on the pitch next year, Potter. For Quidditch, that is. They tell me you fly like your father. I can't wait to see; it always gets my… blood pumping seeing someone fly like that.'

With that she tapped him on the end of his nose with a perfectly-manicured finger and spun, wheeling back to her seat where her myriad friends sat giggling like mad, shooting James looks in between whispering furiously behind their hands.

Girls. Every single one of them were insane.

'What'd I miss?' he grumbled at a nervous-looking Fred.

'One-ninety plays two-ten. Ravenclaw are up. Fairbourne made a run at the snitch but lost it in the sun.'

James shot a smug look back at Odette, a part of him that he would never, ever acknowledge, was quietly thinking that it might not be so bad if Ravenclaw won after all, so long as she didn't get her perfect, privileged little hands on that trophy.

She winked back at him, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

James was forced around back to the action as both Seekers were making a dive towards the centre of the field, from opposite angles. He could see it from his seat; the Snitch was hovering, looking a little sluggish, a mere few yards above the ground. He joined in the chorus of yells and shouts of encouragement that immediately lit up the stadium.

The Seekers raced in on identical paths. The game literally stopped around them, the entire stands holding their breath as they both closed in on the snitch. James' voice was failing, but still he screamed. They _needed_ this, the confidence it would lend the team would be tremendous.

They both converged, and when they crossed over the Snitch was no longer there. Which one had it? James looked frantically down at the pair, both of whom touched down, aware that the game had ended. A whistle sounded, but still nobody was celebrating. _Why was nobody celebrating?_

And then it happened; Diana Fairbourne raised her hand triumphantly, and the sun glinted off a pair of tiny, golden wings. James and Fred leapt up out of their seats, colliding in an exuberant hug as if they were the ones who had won the Cup.

From the corner of his eye he saw Odette, surrounded by her tittering group of friends, but staring straight at him. 'Next year,' she mouthed, before spinning gracefully away to go and collect her prize with the rest of the Slytherin team; Gryffindor's victory had sealed their ultimate glory.

The stands eventually began to filter out, and Cassie led the group back to the castle with a sullen march, not bothering to stay for the awarding of the trophy to the Slytherin team. James didn't blame her; it was the last thing he felt like watching right now.

He found himself walking side-by-side with Holly, who wore a small smile on her face as they made their way across the grounds.

'Thanks for that,' she said, nodding her head back towards the pitch. 'Winning that one for us, I'll have this one over you lot for all of next year. Maybe the one after, too. Mansfield looks pretty good.'

'Ugh,' James groaned, 'don't talk to me about her.'

She gave him a friendly nudge in the ribs, before pulling back sharply, clearly in pain. James reached an arm out to support her, but she waved him away.

'That bastard,' she growled through gritted teeth. 'I'm going to find out what spell that was and find whoever Imperiused Teddy and tie him up like he did to me and use it on him, one day.'

James laughed at her determination, but something cut him off, freezing the sensation in his throat.

'Wait. Tied you up? I don't remember that, I thought you got hit with a stray spell. We both did.'

Holly stopped mid-stride, a hand still held to her ribs. A frown was crossing her face, and James watched her sink deep into some intense thought.

'I remember that you did,' she mused, 'but I- I thought I was tied up, I _remember_ being tied up. I couldn't move, but I can't remember _why._ '

The feeling that something was wrong was screaming at James now, he felt like they were close to something, that they were on the brink of solving this bizarre mystery, but every time he pushed his mind to think on it, he found himself deflected, distracted. A scowl of frustration began to twist Holly's features as she no doubt was undergoing the same phenomenon.

'Guys, come on!' called Clip, 'if you don't hurry you'll get caught up in the Slytherin celebrations.'

He gestured back towards the pitch, where a horde of green-and-gold clad supporters were pouring forth, holding the team aloft on their shoulders, the Cup glinting in the afternoon sunlight.

James offered Holly his arm with a defeated smile, and together they made their way to join their friends, the moment of confusion they had shared forgotten by the time they reached the Entrance Hall.

The celebrations from the Slytherins were redoubled that evening, as they took out the House Cup as well. James' head fell into his hands as somehow across the chaos of the Hall, Odette Mansfield had managed to catch his eye. Again.

He trudged off to bed early, feeling sleepy and surly. He threw the last of his clothes and books haphazardly into his trunk, making sure to check beneath his bed. The prospect of saying farewell to his friends the following day was leaving a bitter taste in his mouth that was turning to guilt as he felt like he should be more excited to see his family.

He collapsed onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling above, which offered no answers this night. Soon, however, he was asleep, and his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had come to an end.

The dungeons roared on in celebrations all night long, but throughout the rest of the castle was a still silence, a held breath waiting to rush outward in the chaos that tomorrow would bring. The Defence Against the Dark Arts office stood empty and forlorn, a cold draught wending through, disturbing a stack of dusty papers. Somewhere in an innocuous classroom within the bowels of the castle, two pairs of figures stood facing each other. From one pair to the other passed a pair of dull grey masks, and a small, black, leather-bound book. If one looked close enough they would see that upon the cover of this book was an embossed, decorative golden letter 'L'. In the Headmistress' office, a new portrait was being hung, and an open scroll of parchment lay discarded upon the desk. The figure within the office eyed the figure within the portrait calmly, and no words were passed from predecessor to incumbent, only the weight of a crushing burden.

Back in the dormitory of the first-year Gryffindors, a thin, black-haired boy slept soundly. Sleep well, James Potter, and save your energy, for the months and years that come will offer little respite or peace. Sleep well, for in dreams we find escape, and the soul cannot be torn, ground down and crushed. Sleep well, for that is all that awaits you when you return, should you return.

 _A/N: So there it is, that is all I have to say on James' first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There will be the briefest of hiatuses before I release the second book in the series: "James S Potter and the Tides of Change"._ _ **Make sure you follow my page to get the updates when book 2 (and beyond) is released, as it will be separate from this story.**_ _In the meantime, while Book 2 is planned and delivered, I will be releasing another story which will be based in the same world, and will tell parts of the story from the perspective of the other characters, as well as some of their backstories. It is titled "James S Potter and the Tales of Unsung Heroes". If there are any that you are particularly interested in hearing then let me know in a review, or PM me._

 _For now, it is less farewell, and more a see you soon, as I will most certainly return. Our journey is only just beginning, dear readers, you can be sure of that. Once again, you have my gratitude for your readership, and my love for those of you kind enough to leave such heart-warming reviews._

 _Until the next installment!_

 _Sgt Whiskeyjack_


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